There would be the sixth hour and the ninth hour. Perhaps there would be
a darkness.

But when Good Friday came you found a smoking hot-cross bun on
everybody's plate at breakfast, tasting of spice and butter. And you went
to Aldborough Hatch for Service. She thought: "If the darkness does come
it won't be so bad to bear at Aldborough Hatch." She liked the new
white-washed church with the clear windows, where you could stand on the
hassock and look out at the green hill framed in the white arch. That was
Chigwell.

"'There is a green hill far a-a-way
Without a city wall--'"

The green hill hadn't got any city wall. Epping Forest and Hainault
Forest were there. You could think of them, or you could look at Mr.
Propart's nice clean-shaved face while he read about the Crucifixion and
preached about God's mercy and his justice. He did it all in a soothing,
inattentive voice; and when he had finished he went quick into the vestry
as if he were glad it was all over. And when you met him at the gate he
didn't look as if Good Friday mattered very much.

In the afternoon she forgot all about the sixth hour and the ninth hour.
Just as she was going to think about them Mark and Dank put her in the
dirty clothes-basket and rolled her down the back stairs to make her
happy. They shut themselves up in the pantry till she had stopped
laughing, and when Catty opened the door the clock struck and Mark said
that was the ninth hour.

It was all over. And nothing had happened. Nothing at all.