Beyond the rapids

YOU can’t just throw it all in a skip, Mum!” Bryony’s voice was muffled by a dust mask as she crouched in the loft space, carefully avoiding bumping her head on the beams. She examined a battered trun

I LIFT my head to the weak sun and give thanks for having survived another winter. It’s good to see the lane is passable, even if there are ruts and puddles. However, I can still see the bones of icy,

On the morning of 9 January 1905 (22 January on the New Style calendar Soviet Russia later adopted), a crowd of striking workers marched peacefully through Saint Petersburg towards the Winter Palace,

AS I hang my clothes in the wardrobe of the hotel room we’re sharing, I feel my sister Clare’s eyes on me. Through a mirror, I catch the thoughtful look on her face. It’s a look that’s often there, bu

VERONICA had only recently moved to the town, so she was surprised to recognise the woman walking towards her. Yet, when their eyes met, 30 years rolled away. “Helen?” Veronica said. “It is you, isn’t

THE small wooden sign that read “Kinlochbay Station” swayed in the winter wind. Elspeth MacKenzie hurried along the platform, her father’s pocket watch clutched in her gloved hand. Five minutes to the