“They’ve got nothing like this in Morden”

 This is Betty. I met her recently at an old folks club in Tooting, run by a charity that tackles isolation among the elderly. She was singing music hall songs. I told her I live in Kent.

“We used to go down to Kent a lot,” she said. “My mother loved it when the apple trees were in blossom. Daddy always took us in the car. We had a Ford 8. A year old it was. He was very proud of it. My sister and I used to sit in the back, giving a queenly wave to all the people we passed.”

When was this? “Well, I’m 87, so it must have been 80 odd years ago.” I show her the photo I’ve taken. “I look like an old granny,” she laughs. “I haven’t had my hair done in a week.”

With Alan the pianist playing the opening bars of the next song, she leans over to whisper: “You know, they’ve got nothing like this in Morden.”