Better late than never

WHEN we left England, it was teeming with rain; here in Umbria, the heat is so fierce it could render you senseless. Especially if you’re marooned with a flat tyre on a little winding road somewhere o

HEY, watch where you’re goin’! Bloomin’ boys!” Resisting the urge to shake her fist, Elena Brown bent to pick up the contents of the basket that one of the neighbour boys had knocked from her arm as t

SUMMER came early this year, which means that ...

MILK?” Mrs Evans loomed over Alice Campbell’s teacup with a milk jug. The humidity in the tea shop was beginning to wilt the fabric violets in Alice’s little hat. She could see a few of the tiny flowe

Iris climbed down from the donkey cart that had given her a lift from Penzance station, being careful not to ladder her best stockings, and walked up the narrow lane to Nantolven Farm. There was no si

The first women’s Tour de France ran in 1955 – and then vanished. Stephanie Boland charts the long, winding road to its modern revival