The old church hall had been closed for a year.

The ground under it had moved, and great cracks had opened in the walls. It wasn't safe anymore. The toddler group had nowhere to meet. Neither did the youth club, the pensioners' lunch, or the Wednesday food bank.

The church needed a new hall. One point eight million pounds.

A Building Committee was set up. I'd been on every church committee for forty years, so I joined it too.

The chair was Felicity Harrington. She and her husband had moved to Little Hadleigh from London five years before, into the big house at the top of the hill. She was very organised and very loud and very rich.

The treasurer was Gerald Pike, a retired banker. There were four others. All new to the village. All with large houses and larger cars.

At the second meeting, Felicity looked around the table.

“I think,” she said, “we need to be honest about what this committee is for. It's for raising serious money. We need people with serious connections.”

She smiled at me.

“Joan, you've done wonderful work for the church over the years. But I wonder if you might be more comfortable stepping back from this one. Let the people with deeper pockets take the strain.”

They voted. Five to two.

I wasn't on the Building Committee anymore.