As they sit around a table in a cosy pub on the Shropshire border, laughing and hugging and finishing off each other’s sentences, they look – to outsiders at least – like any ordinary group of friendly locals, writes Ben Bentley.

But they aren’t. This lot have a special and exclusive bond. At one point they each produce a shining token of their friendship. One by one, out come brass hearts inscribed with the letters NPC. And what does this mean?

“It means we are members of the Nice People’s Club,” explains Glenn Taylor in the bar of the Junction Inn at Norbury Junction, near Newport. “Our mission is to be nice.”

He adds: “The keyring signifies love and comradeship. I said we ought to have a Nice People’s Club because the way I look at it you can count the number of close friends you have on one hand, but this lot . . . these are the kind of people you would lend your last 500 quid to anytime – and trust them with it.”

In a fast-moving world where manners and displays of love and kindness for others are an increasingly rare commodity, their mission – to spread niceness and make the world a slightly better place – is almost radically refreshing. But perhaps it has come to something when people with precious, old-fashioned community values have had to band together in reaction to the apparent demise in human kindness.

The group, with a total of 10 members whose ages range from early 30s to mid-70s, officially formed and sealed their friendship two years ago.

Most of them are canal boaters who often float off into the sunset on separate ways, but who gravitate back to one another after a few weeks away, meeting up for days out, parties, barbecues and funerals, or just to lend each other a cup of sugar.

As an example of trust among the group, member Stan (‘The Man’) Thomas, 73, regularly hands over the keys to his car for his fellow friends to use as and when.

“It’s taxed and insured – all we have to do is put petrol in it,” says NPC member Joyce White.

And when Trish and Frank Booth tied the knot recently there was no need for a wedding car – member Trevor Council was forthcoming with his stunning 1949 open-topped Daimler for them to use as they wished.

Says Glenn: “We don’t impose on each other but if someone says they need something we are there for them in a flash. I suffer with a bad back but Foxy here (that’s Steve Fox in real terms) drops off my coal for me and gets it in for me. It’s simple things like that that make a difference.”

Joyce explains: “My husband was in hospital; they used to bring the boat down and fill it with water and they used to go and visit him in hospital so that he was never alone – about 40 miles away.”

And Trish Booth adds: “We don’t spend a great deal of money but we give each other time. It costs nothing to be nice.

“And I don’t think we have ever fallen out with each other. We are like an extended family.”

Joyce says it is tragic that people don’t have as much time for each other these days – bemoaning largely the lack of old-fashioned community spirit.

“There’s a lot of people who don’t give each other the time of day,” she says. “My daughter lives in London and she said ‘I will never worry about you because you’ve got people that love you and look after you’.”

Sometimes it does seem easier to get through the day by being unkind and abrasive; so much harder to be gentle and kind. But niceness pays; it is infectious.

“It does rub off on people, I hope,” says Joyce. “If you are nice to people they might be nice back to you.”

Moreover, she and her friends say perpetrators of kindness will feel all the better for it. Simple acts carry a feelgood factor that should not be sniffed at right now.

There are certainly some characters in the club. Stan The Man, for instance, has taken against wearing socks and walks through life stocking-free. Even on occasions where a suit is required. More power to his ankle.

His boat is pristine too, and he even folds napkins for his own meals.

Absent Gary Ferguson, 61, is described as “Our Gary. Our lovely Gary.” A chippie by trade, there are dovetail joints all round should the need for carpentry arise.

At 34, Angi Fox, aka Foxette, is the youngest member of the club and says: “I really miss this lot when we go away; I miss the camaraderie.”

Can anyone become a member of the NPC? Not exactly, but the door is always open . . . or at least it’s being held open by a Nice Person with a goodly soul.

Says Joyce: “We have to have known you for a long time and we all have to get on with that person. You can become a member of the NPC though. We would have a conflab about it – and if nearly all get on with that person but one of us does not, then that’s it – no membership.”

Membership of the Nice People’s Club, by the way, would also involve a love of chip butties and sausages – the food of shared friendship.

But for those who may have forgotten, quite how do you go about being nice? Advice from members of the NPC includes giving away simple smiles to fellow men, and treating people as you would like to be treated yourself.

“It’s trust,” says Angi, trying to sum up what it means to be nice.

“And I would say it’s love,” adds Glenn. “Even if we don’t see each other we keep in touch. We want the Nice People’s Club to go global, so that all the world is nice.”