The farmer and his wife

IT was about nine o’clock on a Friday night when we heard a vehicle pull up in the yard. You couldn’t miss it. I think it must have had a hole in its exhaust! Jip let the world know we had visitors. T

IT was a Wednesday night and we were sitting round the stove trying to get warm. It had been a cold day, the window blowing from Siberia. “John, let’s have someone in on Saturday night.” I had to smil

Miss Julia White, horsewoman, sailor, farmer and haunter of my own farming life (such as it isn’t) first appeared in my life when I was 17, trying to get myself to agricultural college. Or was it when

Sarah looked down at her shopping list again, frowning. Why on earth had she been so pig-headed? Her parents had offered to do Christmas. So had John’s. But no. She’d insisted: since this was their fi

PHOTOGRAPHS BY GETTY IMAGES; WROUGHT IRON & BRASS ...

JOHANN KERNER saw the woman coming out of the darkness. She looked ancient and she moved as slowly as a snail, her back bent. She was the most likely source of information he had seen on his travels.