The whole village came.

The new hall stood on the same spot as the old one. It was beautiful. Light and warm, with big windows over the green and a kitchen that the pensioners' lunch ladies had already cried about.

And at the front, the oak doors. Arthur's doors. Shining in the May sunshine, every acorn sharp and clear, hanging on brand-new hinges.

Above them, a carved wooden sign was covered with a velvet cloth.

The Bishop stood on a little platform. Rev. Sarah stood beside him. Mr Fenwick stood quietly at the side, in his tweed jacket.

Felicity stood at the front in a huge pink hat, holding a microphone.

“Welcome, everyone!” she said. “What a day! When I took on this project two years ago, everyone told me one point eight million was impossible. Well!”

Applause.

“It's taken a great deal of hard work. And a great deal of generosity. Some people gave twenty pounds.”

She smiled across the crowd at me.

“And some people gave a little more. Every little helps!”

A few people laughed. Not as many as last time.

“And now,” said Felicity, “the donor's solicitor, Mr Fenwick, will reveal the name of our new hall. I must say, I'm quite nervous!”

She laughed and patted her hat.