There was a competition for the kids to decorate their bikes in Union flags and red, white and blue ribbons. Old man Vestey (as we called him) had to judge the event. This shaky old figure, whose presence conjured up enormous respect, was moved into position in front of us. He looked us up and down for a few seconds, then very shakily raised his walking stick and said "That one". It was Julie Clarke. He then leaned over to a man on his right and said "Which one is Mrs. Mattin's son?". The man looking very embarrassed then pointed to William, and Mr. Vestey said "Second prize will go to this fine young man".

There was then a long slow drive from the village hall to Little Thurlow Hall. There was lots of cheering and waving of banners, and Rose Queen Sharon wobbled dangerously about on her throne. When we got to the Hall, we were all presented with a special commemorative mug, which Rose Queen Sharon handed to us. I remember that as she gave me my mug she said "Ere you are," smiling broadly from ear to ear. I still have the mug and I wonder how many others survived to this point in time?

Thurlow in the 70s was much better cared for than now, and it was always put into the 'Suffolk Best Kept Village' competition. We kids would go around and sweep out the bus shelter and clean the pavements. Old man Vestey cared passionately about the villages in those days, both Great and Little. The paint-work on all the houses had the same colour scheme, giving the village a uniform look, which gave me the impression that Thurlow was somewhat unique among villages, almost an empire unto itself.

Now unfortunately it resembles more a racing stadium than a village. Most of the cottage gardens have been handed over to the cult of the car, as driveways snake onto the village street, which is no longer a peaceful place, but a thundering black dusty serpent biting deep into the village's future.