Journey

IT had been a long, hard drive. Frances had left early, hoping to get away before the rush hour – only to discover that the rush hour started earlier still. She stopped for a break further south than

I PULLED back the living-room curtains and stopped singing along to the radio, frozen to the spot. How could this be? It was a beautiful morning. The sun was shining, the birds had been singing up a s

THE clamour of seagulls woke Frances. For a moment, she was disorientated. Not so much in place – she knew this bedroom well – as in time. She had the odd feeling that none of the last 30-odd years ha

MARGARET tried to stay still and not fidget. It was difficult. How long she had waited – how long they had all waited to get away from the town, with its noise and thronging crowds. For Father to get

BATTLING SNOW IN THE LIGURIAN ALPS, A TRAVELLER AND HIS HORSE LEARN THERE’S PROFOUND MEANING IN MASTERING THE ART OF QUIET COMPANIONSHIP

Dick Waters recalls moments that make the hairs stand on the back of your neck