Is truth more strange than fiction the writer is inclined to ask as his thoughts are carried on memories wings back over a period of sixty odd years, to a small village in the north east of Cornwall. In that small village in the year 1864 there stood an old…
Is truth more strange than fiction the writer is inclined to ask as his thoughts are carried on memories wings back over a period of sixty odd years, to a small village in the north east of Cornwall. In that small village in the year 1864 there stood an old…
Oh! What a golden chain is memory – it connects our early childhood to our present thoughts and links us to the anchor of our future hopes. Shall we count the links of that long chain, one by one, and see how they connect all our joys, our happiness, all…
Earlier in this chapter, in describing the house, there was mention made of a dairy, with nice dishes of scalded cream. One day my mother had occasion to leave the house for a while, and, on her return and on going into the dairy, she noticed there was a considerable…