It happened during the winter of 1973, when evenings rang out stillborn from far across the weathered moorland, and snow fell hard and heavy and clung atop the peppered veins of nature__ tough bracken, all picture-postcard like.

But how conceive a God supremely good/ Who heaps his favours on the sons he loves,/ Yet scatters evil with as large a hand?[Written after an earthquake in Lisbon killed over 15,000 people]

She blushed and so did he. She greeted him in a faltering voice, and he spoke to her without knowing what he was saying.

Let the game be ventured!

History is all around us and you, my lucky few, are living in some of it..

Clear vision holds the key.