Red Sky at Sunrise: Cider with Rosie, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning, A Moment of War by Lee, Laurie New edition (1993)

Red Sky at Sunrise: Cider with Rosie, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morning, A Moment of War by Lee, Laurie New edition (1993)

Language: English

Pages: 0


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traffic, no radios – only the sun-down crowds quietly sitting and watching each other, the waiters mostly idle or flicking at flies with slow caressive movements. I’d not been there long when a special party arrived and made their way to a nearby table – a curiously striking group and immediately noticeable in the ponderous summer twilight. There were four of them: a woman in dazzling white, a tall man wearing a broad black hat, a jaunty young girl with a rose in her hair, followed by a pretty

lived by no clocks, and unpunctuality was bred in her bones. She was particularly offhand where buses were concerned and missed more than she ever caught. In the free-going days when only carrier-carts ran to Stroud she would often hold them up for an hour, but when the motor-bus started she saw no difference and carried on in the same old way. Not till she heard its horn winding down from Sheepscombe did she ever begin to get ready. Then she would cram on her hat and fly round the kitchen with

was, sitting up in her chair, reading a book with a magnifying glass. ‘Ah, son,’ she said – she didn’t know I was coming – ‘come here, take a look at this…’ We examined the book, then I went up to bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. I was roused at some dark cold hour near dawn by Mother climbing the stairs. ‘I got you your dinner son,’ she said, and planked a great tray on the bed. Aching with sleep, I screwed my eyes open – veg soup, a big stew, and a pudding. The boy had come home and he had

the war – square, with a triangular handle. It was a miniature cauldron, smoke-blackened outside and dark, tannin-stained within. ‘’Ere, take it,’ he said. ‘You make me miserable.’ He started to build a fire. ‘I’m goin’ to boil you a bit of tea and tatters.’ And that is what he did. We stayed together as far as Guildford, and I shared more of his pungent brews. He was a tramp to his bones, always wrapping and unwrapping himself, and picking over his bits and pieces. He wasn’t looking for work;

a little off balance I looked about me, saw obscure dark eyes and incomprehensible faces, crumbling walls scribbled with mysterious graffiti, an armed policeman sitting on the Town Hall steps, and a photograph of Marx in a barber’s window. Nothing I knew was here, and perhaps there was a moment of panic – anyway I suddenly felt the urge to get moving. So I cut the last cord and changed my shillings for pesetas, bought some bread and fruit, left the seaport behind me and headed straight for the

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