The highlight of a school day when I was around the age of ten, growing up in Dover in the late 1950’s, was the arrival at our prefab estate of the morning bread lady, or ‘Our Bread Roll’ lady as she was known. The cutting peal of the wooden handled school bell, which she rang out of the van window while cruising along the nearby streets, could be heard long before she ever reached us. Hearing the first brassy tones of that battered old bell would send me instantly into my ‘pleading for money’ routine.