The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

None of us knew the location of "our" metre plot, so it was useless to urge the cow in this or that direction. There was a unanimous sigh of relief as the cow dropped her first clap, and meticulous measuring followed to identify the luck ticket. The cow went back to her pastures, we'd all had fun and 750 pounds had been raised for the hall. AN AWAY FROM IT ALL DAY He had a clip-board in one hand, and a religious tract in the other. Is he, I wondered, as he approached me in the high street, a pollster or a prankster? But he was deadly serious. I am seeking a sample of opinion on Sunday Trading, he said, and I would like to know what you think. Funny you should ask, I said. Only last night I heard a man on the radio say that there was considerable concern in the typical market town about the abuse of the Sabbath. People, he said were misspending their time and their money in the ale houses on Sundays. They were playing football on Sundays. They were dancing on Sundays. And they were buying and selling fruit and vegetables on Sundays. That, said the pollster is precisely my concern. But, I said, the man on the radio was talking about the 17th century. The pollster took a step back. A woman who was waiting for the lights to change to cross the road, took a step forward. Stop pulling his leg, she said to me. That was your programme on the radio last night about Puritanism. I heard it too, she said, turning to the pollster, and I was fascinated to hear what they got up to then. Football matches so violent that people quite often got killed. Dancing so lascivious that mothers feared for their daughters' virtue. Sunday shopping was the least of their excesses, an innocent pastime. Do you shop on Sundays? asked the pollster. Yes, I do, she said. And do you fear for your virtue, I said. She laughed. No, but I sometimes fear for my pocket. The pollster pursued his lips. Do you go to church on Sundays? he asked. Sometimes, she said. I used to go regularly but I got out of the habit. Laziness. But now that I am making the effort to go out shopping on Sundays, I think I may start going to church again. In fact, she said, looking at me, I think it would be a good idea if the shops were to open at twelve noon on Sundays. I could go to church first and then go shopping, like they do on the Continent. The pollster paled. But then, he said, the shops might stay open until midnight, or even later, as they do in America on Sundays. Not every Sunday, I said. On one Sunday this year in Washington all the supermarkets closed at six in the evening because they knew that every one would be at home watching the Redskins in the Superbowl on television. Some things are still sacred. As they were in the 17th century, said the woman. But stop teasing him and tell him what you really think. Should the shops be open on Sundays? No, I said. The pollster perked up. Not, I said for any theological reason. You cannot compel people to be godly. Shops or no shops, people will choose whether or not to go to church. But there is a good social reason. People, particularly poorly paid women shopkeepers, should not be kept from their families. Only those who provide essential services should be compelled to work on Sundays.