A peaceful hamlet epitomising the quintessential values of Middle England seems an unlikely place for a brutal murder to take place.

Kingston Gorse, less than a mile from the spot where Sarah went missing, prides itself on its Neighbourhood Watch scheme.

As motorists pass a barrier which acts as a border control into the hamlet, a large sign proclaims "Crime Alert in Operation".

On a noticeboard a poster states: "This is part of the Neighbourhood Watch area and is constantly under surveillance". Sadly, nobody spotted the abduction of Sarah as she bounded ahead of her sisters and two brothers on that fateful Saturday.

Naively, I thought such horrors united us all. I was wrong. As I chatted to a woman police officer guarding the lane leading to the home of Sarah's grandparents in nearby West Kingston, a Range Rover slowed down.

"How long are these traffic cones going to be here?" a middle-aged man shouted angrily through his passenger window. "I smashed my driving mirror this morning because you've narrowed the road so much."

The police officer bit her tongue, apologised and said she would look into it. The yellow police cones, intended to prevent press and photographers from parking nearby, ensured that it didn't take me long to find where the grandparents live.

A WPC said grimly: "I've been here since the announcement. We're on 24-hour shifts and it's very difficult. We're tired and we're emotionally tired. Most of us are parents and aren't seeing our own families. But I think we're going to be here for the forseeable future."

As I drove towards the nearby village of Little Preston, the Argus "missing" posters pinned to trees, walls and shop windows acted as poignant memorials to Sarah.

A teenage girl peddled furiously past, clutching a bunch of pink carnations under one arm. In the local florists, a woman brushed past carrying yellow chrysanthemums. Their aim was to share the grief of the bereaved, to say "we care".

The newsagent watched countless customers reading the news for the first time. She said, ashen-faced: "It's affected the whole village. You almost feel it personally."

As I headed home, I watched a young mother pushing her son on a swing. He was blissfully unaware of the tragedy. The words of the newsagent rang in my ears: "All the mums are frightened to let their children out now."

I realised the village had aged tangibly in the past 18 days. It will never be the same again.