Although none of us can read, we all open our Prayer Books and sit with dutifully lowered heads as if we can follow every word. The paper is very thin. The print is very small, not like that in the books in the nursery. I mouth the words, because I know them by heart, of course; we all do, though deaf Jenny always gets some of them wrong.
The sermon is about one of Christ’s miracles. I would love to ask the vicar if he thinks there are still things like miraculous draughts of fish, or blind people being given sight by a mixture of spit and dirt. I might have asked kind Dr Martin. Why is he called a doctor when he is not a medical man? But Mr Sproggett is not the sort of man a girl would wish to speak to on such a matter. So in a quiet moment, I ask God if I might have a miracle, like getting that blue ribbon back again to keep forever.
Perhaps I haven’t prayed hard enough. It doesn’t appear before my eyes.
And then – and then! Yes, a strange thing does happen. I see the words I have been so carefully copying in front of me, on this very page! I trace them with my finger, and Mr Sproggett and all around me are saying them: Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name.
I follow each and every word for the rest of the prayer.
This is better than a blue ribbon. This is the key to everything.