Shaking the globe

The year 1966 saw a new bright star light up the London stage. The play was Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and the playwright was Tom Stoppard who, at 29, was the youngest person ever to have a

I WOKE up after a vivid dream of Eleanor. I’d had quite a few recently. Eleanor was my half-sister. She was older than me – the daughter of Dad’s first wife, Dorrie. My mum only found out he had a fir

THE toll of church bells was stifled by the winds. Sleet clawed my face as I pushed through the flurry. The orangery’s windows had shattered. Whichever way I turned, rattling, shaking trees bore down.

THE Janus Inn’s sign swung ominously in the gathering wind as Mairi and her bundle stood outside. Waiting for the coachman to appear, she looked towards the stout, ancient building, glad of the carous

AS Ellie bent to pick up an old trainer laying half buried in a pile of seaweed, she screamed. “Aargh, there’s a leg attached to this!” For a moment she thought she’d stumbled across a gruesome crime

IN years to come, when Sebastian was looking back on this moment, he was for ever reminded of this P.G. Wodehouse quote – “Unseen, in the background, Fate was quietly slipping the lead into the boxing