midday
I 'll look around for one if I 've time this afternoon . '' It was nearly seven miles from Ansdore to Lydd , passing the Woolpack , and the ragged gable of Midley Chapel -- a reproachful ruin among the reeds of the Wheelsgate Sewer . Foxy went smartly , but every now and then they had to slow down as they overtook and passed flocks of sheep and cattle being herded along the road by drovers and shepherds in dusty boots , and dogs with red , lolling tongues . It was after midday when the big elm wood which had been their horizon for the last two miles suddenly turned , as if by an enchanter 's wand , into a fair-sized town of red roofs and walls , with a great church tower raking above the trees . Joanna drove straight to the Crown , where Thomas Godden had `` put up '' every market day for twenty years . She ordered her dinner -- boiled beef and carrots , and jam roll -- and walked into the crowded coffee room , where farmers from every corner of the three marshes were already at work with knife and fork . Some of them knew her by sight and stared , others knew her by acquaintance and greeted her , while Arthur Alce jumped out of his chair , dropping his knife and sweeping his neighbour 's bread off the table .