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‘In this area we don’t fly,’ he said. ‘But it’s one of those things – maybe one community needs something where another one doesn’t. When I was younger, I asked one of the bishops how we should decide what’s appropriate and he said it’s important that everybody agrees to whatever we’re doing.’

‘That seems to bind everything you do. With the Amish, everybody has to agree.’

Mervin nodded. ‘You know, it varies. It’s not all one hundred per cent. Just everybody tries to do their part. It makes it easier for everybody.’

‘I like the way you combine resources. If someone’s got cancer and the treatment is expensive, you all take part in paying for it. I think that’s a wonderful thing.’

‘I really appreciate that, too. Helping each other binds people together. It’s kind of the key thing.’

‘Visitation’ is another big thing among the Amish. It’s all about maintaining their community. They’ll gather at each other’s homes to drink coffee and eat popcorn. Alcohol is not permitted, but Mervin said the youngsters often have a drink anyway. ‘They go through that age when it’s an attractive thing, even though it’s not allowed.’ Weekends and holidays are spent dropping in on friends and relatives. ‘If someone needs visiting, maybe they’re sick or they need company, we go see them.’

In their spare time, many of the Amish folk fish for bass or sing in choirs, particularly on Sunday evenings, when all the generations congregate together. They go to church at least every fortnight, often visiting other churches in the district, although communion is only ever taken in their local church.

Mervin and I kept talking until, about half an hour later, we arrived at the family farm and he invited me into his parents’ house. Mervin himself lived next door.

‘Your stomach getting empty?’ he asked. ‘Are you ready for lunch?’

‘Absolutely.’

After several days of eating rubbish on the road, it was a delight to sit down to some proper home-cooked food, prepared by Mervin’s wife and mother. They were both dressed in long, plain dresses, pinafores and bonnets. Near by, a small girl, no more than two years old, wandered around, also dressed in traditional Amish dress and bonnet, a dummy in her mouth. I listened as the family chatted in what sounded like a combination of English and High German.

Mervin invited the director, the producer and the rest of the crew to join us as we sat down to a huge spread, including chicken, ham, pie, salad, vegetables, potatoes, noodles, corn and bread. It all tasted wonderful.

After dinner, Mervin showed me how the gas lighting in his parents’ house worked. It gave out a lovely glow. Then he asked where I was going next.

‘St Louis. It’ll take about two and a half hours.’ I told Mervin that the throttle on the bike was a bit tight and made my thumb sore. ‘So it’ll be a little painful by the time we get to St Louis, but all in all it will be good fun … if the rain stays away.’

As we prepared to leave, I told Mervin that this had been one of the nicest days of my life.

He just laughed.

‘Going around with you in the buggy was delightful. I’d like to thank you very, very much. It’s been such a pleasure meeting you.’

‘You’re welcome. Appreciate you stopping in.’

‘I’m very happy. You’ve made me very happy.’

I rode away from Arthur thinking it had been the best day’s filming I’d done in a long, long time. Mervin is a lovely man. A complete man. He knows exactly who and what he is, and what he does. He makes beautiful things, and he makes them extremely well.

It’s lovely to know that there are still people in the world who are making wonderful things. I’d thought that when it came to furniture-making, maybe the best days were over. But they’re not. There are still guys like Mervin making fantastic things that will be handed down in families from generation to generation. It fills my heart with joy.

And Mervin is not just a master craftsman – he laughs easily and can take a joke. At one point I’d asked him