Then he said beneath where we were standing there were two brick and concrete air-raid shelters with steps leading down to them. The bodies were in those shelters and the steps had been blown up to seal them off.’ Ken Small, The Forgotten Dead, Bloomsbury, 1989, p.209 Eleanor Swindon’s ghost may have moved on to a happier afterlife, but Cathy Yates clung like my shadow, dogging my trail all day Friday, the day Paul and Alan had set aside for a bike ride to Kingsbridge along the coastal road. With the guys out of my hair, I’d planned a solitary pilgrimage to Greenway House, Agatha Christie’s home, recently opened to the public by the National Trust following a multi-million-pound renovation. I slipped away from Horn Hill House shortly after breakfast and was standing in a short queue at the Greenway Ferry kiosk at the Dartmouth boat float pawing through my change purse muttering I know I have something smaller than a twenty, when Cathy materialized at my elbow, waving a ten-pound note and asking, ‘Do you mind if I tag along?’ I did, but Britain, like America, was a free country, and even though it was the height of tourist season, there turned out to be plenty of room aboard the Dartmouth Belle.
What do You think about All Things Undying (2010)?
