"The James Joyce Tower and Museum is a Martello tower in Sandycove, Dublin, where James Joyce spent six nights in 1904.[1] The opening scenes of his 1922 novel Ulysses take place here, and the tower is a place of pilgrimage for Joyce enthusiasts, especially on Bloomsday. Admission is free. The novel starts like this: "Stately,… Continue reading Visit to Dalkey in 2014
Category: encounters
Dark Star
Live Dead explains why the Dead are one of the best performing bands in America, why their music touches on ground that most other groups don’t even know exists. A list of song titles would mean very little in terms of what actually goes on inside the album. Like the early Cream, the… Continue reading Dark Star
Classical Music of Africa
This song by Sona Jobarteh is surely an Ode To Joy for our present age. The video shows a loving and idealized portrait of modern West Africa, steeped in traditional roots Up to the middle of the 19th century, classical music came from Central Europe. Sona has absorbed this tradition from early childhood, interwoven with… Continue reading Classical Music of Africa
Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
Waking up at 3 am, I find a song playing endlessly in my head. Not just the tune, but some of the words too. It's one of the most extraordinary popular songs, more potent than anything by Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen. Peter Gabriel has his own explanation for how it hatched in his mind… Continue reading Eagle Flew Out Of the Night
A call from “Alma Mater”
Last night I got a call from a bright young woman in the Alumni department, clearly a student volunteer. They ring from time to time to see if you can donate to their charity in aid of disadvantaged students from overseas. this is from their website https://www.birmingham.ac.uk/ : Birmingham is a truly global university producing… Continue reading A call from “Alma Mater”
Holy Family
Ascension of Yemaya into the Waters 2019 I guess like other educated white males I haven’t understood the the accusation that came out so often last year in the Black Lives Matter campaigns, that people like me are “privileged”. Especially in the sense that there are things we may never be able to understand, such… Continue reading Holy Family
Face-to-Face
The ghost of Christine Keeler is returning to public view, in the form of a TV series now on BBC, and a forthcoming exhibition in London, which I heard about through Natalie D'Arbeloff's blog, in which she says Christine Keeler was, in that story, simultaneously absolutely powerless and absolutely powerful. She was neither victim nor… Continue reading Face-to-Face
“outnumbered by blessings”
It was one of those "whisperings" that I get occasionally when the conscious mind is quiescent. The brain can do funny things. Shostakovich had a fragment of shrapnel lodged in his, left over from WWII. When he held his head at a certain angle he heard music. All he had to do was write it… Continue reading “outnumbered by blessings”
When the Past Haunts the Night
Lighten our darkness, we beseech thee, O Lord; and by thy great mercy defend us from all perils and dangers of this night ... I find myself surprised to discover that the boarding school* I was so glad to leave in 1954 is actually still open for business, run by the same headmaster and his… Continue reading When the Past Haunts the Night
How to quell terrorists
Disclaimer: Vincent does not know how to quell terrorists, religious or Communist, and has no opinion on any methods for doing so, past, present or future. My title is deliberately provocative and refers to methods used in 1954 in Malaya. When Burr Deming, in "Fair and Unbalanced" (see Pingback at bottom of comments below), says… Continue reading How to quell terrorists
Escaping One’s Enemy
From a still-slight acquaintance, I learn that Martin Buber was activated by people more than ideas. My last post, which got chewed up by an impatient mistake, had a long quote from his book I and Thou, ending with the words, "All actual life is encounter". For that is the meaning of his I-You. Where… Continue reading Escaping One’s Enemy
Eye-Witness
There’s a particular spot in town where I’ve seen a few distressing incidents. I don’t why they happen there, at the entrance to a large supermarket. Usually it’s some altercation, even a clan feud with vicious words and gestures that might detonate a fight at any moment. Sometimes there’s bitterness and tears between a man… Continue reading Eye-Witness
The girl who torpedoed the Government
We met on a summer afternoon in ’59, two 17-year-olds, Pisces born within days of each other. We discovered we had much in common. Both from fatherless backgrounds, lacking any proper home. Each had been granted a single talent, you might say, in compensation for the lack. As her father-figure Stephen Ward said, she had… Continue reading The girl who torpedoed the Government
Grace & Effort
I ended my last with this: “All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” When I try I usually fail at first, then again & again. I don’t like to give up. It’s a compulsion. I was going to write in praise of failure—clearly an… Continue reading Grace & Effort
Beggars and Choosers
I tend to put my trust in the reality I see with my own eyes. . . . Here we have immigrants of every kind, including the odd terrorist, as we know from rare arrests on behalf of the security services. Is there much prejudice in our community? Yes of course, as much as anywhere,… Continue reading Beggars and Choosers
Nake Nula Wauŋ Welo
This mysterious piece dated July 2016 appears in a copy I'd saved on an external hard drive with no further explanation. I haven't been able to trace any comments and suspect it was never published before. Nake Nula Wauŋ Welo We are Lawful. We Do. We Make. We Be. We are developing infrastructure to renew… Continue reading Nake Nula Wauŋ Welo
Brexit dream 3
I dreamt about Clive again, along with two other friends. We’ve been on a trip to Brussels (as I did with school friends in ’58): the headquarters of the European Union. Now it’s time to go back. Our Metro train has just arrived at Brussels Midi, the terminus for the Eurostar train to London. You… Continue reading Brexit dream 3
How we got here, where we go next
I had pretty much done with A Wayfarer’s Notes, actually, didn’t feel loyalty to it any more, only a certain nostalgia, as when you pass a house where you once lived. You see it now owned by someone else, and realize that the fabric of the building, the bricks and mortar, are not what made… Continue reading How we got here, where we go next
Chance Encounters
(Of that day and hour knoweth no man, no, not the angels of heaven . . . (Matthew 24:36) We cannot know how much time we have left. I met Jack the other day, an old man struggling at his garden gate to bring in a freshly emptied rubbish bin, while holding on to his… Continue reading Chance Encounters
Indefinite Sabbatical
Undeterred by the sign, I had my first and last kangaroo-burger here, on May 23rd 2012, somewhere in Amsterdam, near a canal.This blog has been going nearly ten years now. Why? Occupational therapy, mania, addiction? May the world judge. It’s time to take a rest, of uncertain duration. There are other things to explore, other… Continue reading Indefinite Sabbatical
The Unnamed Road
I walked around The Pastures, a hillside north of our house, musing as follows. "The earth is poised and serene, showing through its balanced complexities how intelligently creative it is. Human beings are restless. Prejudice is inborn and entirely natural, though aspects of it are ugly. It is beneficial for us to live in accordance… Continue reading The Unnamed Road
Tsundoku
I’m writing this for Rob, to celebrate the fact that we have known one another 42 years, and that he rang me the other evening, and it was good. When we have been in touch he has been generous, but we have also fallen out a few times. When I was in need he was… Continue reading Tsundoku
“They hold life cheap”
The subtitle of Karen Armstrong’s latest book Fields of Blood is “Religion and the History of Violence”. At the end of my last I said she was arguing the wrong case, and promised to write a follow-up post nominating the right case. This is the best I can do. As to whether religion is involved,… Continue reading “They hold life cheap”
At the Blue Note Café
It was dusk, on a winding country road hemmed in by darkening hedgerows on either side. Round a bend, I suddenly saw two mediaeval peasants trudging along at the roadside, bearing staffs and bundles and what looked like bamboo hats on their backs. I was led back in memory to the Blue Note Café by… Continue reading At the Blue Note Café
Cover Story
Brian Spaeth’s been helping me design a front cover for Wayfaring. His style tends to be low-res—or even ultra low-res. I respect that, but I wanted a picture you could enter, so as to walk the paths it depicts, and see every detail. Up till June 2005, I could only gaze at enticing landscapes, and… Continue reading Cover Story
From Handwriting to Eternity
As an art form, the blog has extraordinary possibilities. It’s a “magic theatre: entrance not for everybody”. Anybody may come and peek, but those for whom it’s not intended will swiftly move on. This theatre’s producer—I mean the blog author—may put on a new show every day, or hardly ever. In the public imagination the… Continue reading From Handwriting to Eternity
The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
There was a programme about Wayfaring on the radio, based on a book called The Gentle Art of Tramping, written in 1927. In those days “gentlemen of the road”, often old soldiers, would be seen on foot across Britain, communing with Nature, find rough shelter each night, doing a little casual labour here and there.… Continue reading The Gentle Art of Wayfaring
In Memoriam: Derek Helman
Earlier this month I published a piece entitled In Memoriam: ..., followed by the name of my late friend from fifty years ago. Part of my intention was to bring him back to life in my own mind, and if possible my reader’s too. But what most inspired the effort was the wish expressed in… Continue reading In Memoriam: Derek Helman
Invitation to a Close Encounter
I was invited to an evangelical-charismatic church service lasting a couple of hours. The invitation arrived by email: “On Sunday, if you would like to come with us to our church (it is an experience not to be missed!) we would love it ...” The church hasn't found a building of its own: that’s another… Continue reading Invitation to a Close Encounter
Home, James!
All right, I willingly confess to being a technophobe, somewhere between moderate and severe, though I don’t know how they grade these things. I have no shame in the matter: what’s to hide, if they haven’t made it illegal? Not yet, so far as I know. But they marginalise it by stealth, and you cannot… Continue reading Home, James!
Prophetic words from 1976
In 1976 when I wrote the essay below for a competition, it was already possible to link computers by telephone line, but an international structure, eventually called the Internet, wasn’t established till 6 years later. Its use was limited to academics and technical types keeping in touch, till Tim Berners-Lee invented the World-Wide Web, nine… Continue reading Prophetic words from 1976
Mister God, this is Anna
Reading Nietzsche is like having a guide show you round your home town—perhaps your own street. He takes you to a familiar blank wall, and shows you cracks in the smooth surface. “So what?” you think and then he takes your hand and you go through each crack to an unfamiliar vista on the other… Continue reading Mister God, this is Anna
Scintillating Scotoma
In one sense it’s crazy to challenge and defy Plato, the Old Testament prophets, Jesus, scientists, one’s own doctor, and especially friends. Who am I to do this? A nobody. Which is a great strength. A somebody has something to defend. At the bottom of the heap, you are free. You have only yourself to… Continue reading Scintillating Scotoma
In the thistle field, at dawn
I lie in bed watching dawn’s rosy fingers light up the house opposite, creeping lower as the hour advances. This street is narrow, its houses joined together (‘terraced’) in a continuous chain on both sides. You’d think there’d be scant room for the low-slanting rays to penetrate. But our house is near the street’s eastern… Continue reading In the thistle field, at dawn
Perspectives and Remembrance
The emblem of this blog is a weathervane with a gilded Centaur, standing above a cupola on top of the 18th century Guildhall, in the market square of High Wycombe, built where two main valleys cross. There are smaller valleys too. Wherever thou goest, thou canst lift up thine eyes unto the hills, like the… Continue reading Perspectives and Remembrance
Southward
I live in a valley, in one of the Victorian workers’ cottages that fill up the space between the small factories in which they worked. It’s a fold in the Chiltern Hills and unless you follow one of the rivers, upstream or down, you have to go up a hill to get anywhere. So at… Continue reading Southward
Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
It was the most spring-like day this year and the urge to be out in it without delay overcame lengthy consideration of where to go. I considered the Phoenix trail to be unfinished business (see post before last) because I hadn’t walked its full length. Still haven’t, as a matter of fact. But there are… Continue reading Encounters on the Phoenix Trail
Seven stylish things
Bryan M. White, that onlie begetter of Nuclear Headache, has burdened me with an award nomination as a Stylish Blogger. Never fear: if you are already in my blog-list below, and have taken the trouble to read this far, you’re ipso facto stylish enough. There is, as always, a catch. You can’t win the lottery… Continue reading Seven stylish things
The Joker Chuang-Tzu
Another post rescued from my Stalinist purge of 2018 : this one from October 17th, 2010 Raymond Sigrist, by doing nothing and making no recommendation, finally got me to start reading Chuang Tzu. When I write about books, I adopt the same strategy as an unscrupulous professional reviewer: read a few pages, then rush headlong… Continue reading The Joker Chuang-Tzu
The secret life of strangers
How is it possible to remember a moment when nothing actually happened? I don’t know, but such moments are the ones I remember most vividly. There were some major works being done on the railway line which affected the bridge above, in the middle of the village’s main street. In consequence, traffic on the bridge… Continue reading The secret life of strangers
Let them be
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Let them be
Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
I spent the morning engaged intensely in ‘writing’, if you can call it that. Needing a break, I revisited Gerrards Cross, keen to see if the Odeon cinema has changed since the photo (from the Sixties) that I published the other day. Never mind that. Does Gerrards Cross welcome the wayfarer? Consider the evidence. A… Continue reading Gerrards Cross and the wayfarer
Reunion
I felt pleased on finishing my last piece, on Everything. What else was there to say? Much as Thomas Aquinas must have felt trying to wrap up his great work, Summa Theologica, but in a tiny way. But then in his latter years, Aquinas saw things in a different proportion, and said one day to… Continue reading Reunion
Four-leaf clover
I wrote a piece called Lucky in July 2008. I had wanted to illustrate it with a four-leaved clover, the symbol of luck. I had never found one, though in my dreamy childhood, I must have spent hours searching for them, especially when deployed as a fielder near the boundary of a cricket field. Perhaps… Continue reading Four-leaf clover
User-friendly
I really haven’t got time to write anything here. This makes it all the more important to do it anyway, for I write to discover what I really think. Think? I’m not referring to “detached thought”, that attempt to be rational that we learn as a trick, as a performing seal balances a beach-ball on… Continue reading User-friendly
Life’s Predicament
Woke up this morning to recall that it’s my first ordinary day for weeks. I've emerged from a season of interruptedness, in which celebration took the form of reuniting with family; not all at once in a single gathering but serially; noting my kinship and resemblance with this one or that; seeing the big or… Continue reading Life’s Predicament
Holiday Job
This post had photos of the holiday camp as it was around then, but they've been lost. They were probably picked from Google Images After graduation I was determined not to stay in my parents' bungalow any more. Especially because my mother was curious about how I'd got on with Christina after my brief visit… Continue reading Holiday Job
The world
Children these days seem to discover “the world” at a very early age, if my small sample of three grandchildren is anything to go by. Before their fourth birthday, they know how to stretch on tiptoe and describe arcs with the furthest reach of their fingertips, chanting “big as the whole world” as a kind… Continue reading The world
Risk assessment
Restored on 6th September 2024. Looking in a shoebox of old software packages on CD I discovered this, meaning I'm now able to use my old Access applications again, including one I designed to facilitate an organization to assess its risks and apply for ISO 9001 certification, for which I was in theory a licensed… Continue reading Risk assessment
Want and need
“We all want. We all need. When want overpowers need, our perspective gets skewed. I say, want all you want—wanting motivates. However, need very little and you will almost always be satisfied.” (Pauline’s latest post made me think, and my comments on her post expanded afterwards into the stuff below.. They appear as by Hendrix,… Continue reading Want and need
Evangelist (Feb. 10th 2009)
The last two days I’ve been stuck indoors with a heavy cold and a raised temperature. Not even tasting the fresh air outside, and my head thickly congested, I’m unable to activate that part of the brain that’s a spokesman for the soul, but I thought I might just start anyhow, and see if in… Continue reading Evangelist (Feb. 10th 2009)
Don’t try this at home
I nearly swallowed some extra strong bleach. I can tell you how it happened, but I don’t know how it could happen. Perhaps I unwittingly broke a law of physics. You can’t do that? Tell me what law says you can’t break a law of physics! I don’t know of a law of Nature that… Continue reading Don’t try this at home
Liking and disliking
I don’t like the idea of self-help literature. I write to help me. You can write or read to help yourself. We all have our likes and dislikes. To follow my desire is a great joy, but what to do about the things that I hate? The worst is to dislike myself, for then anyone… Continue reading Liking and disliking
Angels disguised as bandits
I passed through the children’s playground. From where I live it’s a pedestrian shortcut into town. Two boys were there, who looked about 8, one with a bandanna tied around his face, like a masked bandit holding up a Wells Fargo coach. At his age I must have done the same. They asked me for… Continue reading Angels disguised as bandits
Lehman Brothers bites the dust
I’m not a complete stranger to the world of investment banking. Morgan Grenfell sent me to Dublin for a while in ’85 to test a new system they’d commissioned. More recently, some time in the Nineties, I visited the London headquarters of Lehman Brothers, I can’t recall what for, but had to wait in their… Continue reading Lehman Brothers bites the dust
Encounter in a landscape
Belatedly, I discover that manual work is better than being desk-bound, better for the soul—and the world too, probably. But first some words to continue from yesterday’s set of photos. One of them shows part of the track I walked: down the hill through the nature reserve where the wild roses grew, then through high… Continue reading Encounter in a landscape
The Gift Horse
Why do I have to be so like my grandfather? He bought a cheap Ford in 1935 and didn’t give it up, just replaced parts as necessary, till his younger daughter in 1967 (my mother's sister Peggy) told him time was up. Then he drove her VW Beetle till, in his late eighties, he managed… Continue reading The Gift Horse
Back to Slough
I went for the fourth time in a week, on an errand to Slough. It’s a town occupying a special place in the British imagination: perhaps from The Pilgrim’s Progress, which describes the Slough of Despond. “Slough”: a strange English noun, meaning a muddy place: does it rhyme with “cough”, “through”, “though”, or “rough”? With… Continue reading Back to Slough
Bus ride
It is wonderful to be able to rejoice with the fortunate: to see someone beautiful and young who is making the most of what he or she has, in a simple way. When I was at university, I was preoccupied with my own loneliness and wasted my time. If only I could have appreciated what… Continue reading Bus ride
Slug life
A slug theme has been slithering through my last two posts, leaving the question hanging whether my blocking of cracks in the floor would disturb the migration habits of this humble gastropod. Since I had additionally panelled that corner of the kitchen, fitting the pieces closely, except for one part of the plinth which will… Continue reading Slug life
Bus station
I was waiting at the bus station, that haunt of pensioners, new immigrants and indigent travellers---in short, the dispossessed. I feel at home there. For the first time in fifty-three years, the name of Morton Spencer came back to me. Katie Spencer was my mother’s schoolfriend: vivacious, pretty but still a spinster, still in her… Continue reading Bus station
Belonging
The day after posting my last, I felt cleansed, as a Catholic might feel after a visit to the confessional. Burdens removed, joy restored. I had published only a small selection of what I’d drafted, but had never felt such catharsis from writing, if it is justifiable to link effect and cause in this way.… Continue reading Belonging
The Call of Nature
Yesterday I mentioned a psychedelic tree, now strangled by ivy, on the corner of Rectory Avenue. I haven't finished telling about that road. One day at Christmastime when my younger children were little, I took them out of the warm house to breathe the crisp fresh air. We used to live nearby and went up… Continue reading The Call of Nature
Elemental (2)
’Twas a dark and stormy night. We went as planned to The Royal Standard of England, a 900-year-old pub in Buckinghamshire. Above the festooned hops the visitor may descry a skeleton drinker sitting in the rafters, wearing a Roman soldier’s helmet and holding a pewter tankard in his left hand. The pub was hard to… Continue reading Elemental (2)
My new school
a: headmaster’s lawn (archery & other photogenic activities for school prospectus & to impress special visitors) b: school yard, cadets' parade ground etc c: bicycle shed d: WCs e: urinals f: Nissen hut (housing three classrooms) g: Headmaster’s study h: Form III (my first classroom) i: Assembly Hall j: kitchens k: (off picture) the Cadet… Continue reading My new school
Bicycle
Long ago, when we were 11 or 12, I received a wonderful favour from Cooksey. We used surnames only at prep school, so Cooksey is all I have: hardly enough to track him down now. His parents were in Hong Kong, but at half-term, when almost every boy went away for the Saturday and Sunday,… Continue reading Bicycle
The headmaster’s wife
Lying awake at night, it’s as though I can draw back a curtain to expose deep alcoves of memory. It takes a little perseverance. Suddenly I recall that “perseverance” was a favourite word of Monty Brummell-Hicks, the scary headmaster of my prep school, that place I was sent for ten or twelve weeks at a… Continue reading The headmaster’s wife
The police arrive
Normally the skirling of police sirens, whilst deafening, passes swiftly enough. This time I subconsciously detected something different. Like a pipe band silenced suddenly by punctures to their windbags, the sirens stopped in mid-skirl, which meant they had stopped at our doorstep. I looked out our first-floor window just in time to see the doors… Continue reading The police arrive
Stairway to Heaven
MaxiRam Castle, as its fictitious name implies stands as a grim fortress against the skyline, eleven storeys high. The backside building in my illustration belongs to the same corporation but prettier. It's actually the Fujutsu headquarters in Bracknell but while working there I wanted to write anything freely. I nicknamed Bracknell 'Babylon Town'. Today I… Continue reading Stairway to Heaven
Efficacious Rituals
MaxiRam Castle* is beginning to accept me as one of its own. I’d been entering this beehive via Reception, which has its ritual ways of making sure visitors are not wasps in disguise, whilst honouring them with attractive young ladies, wood, leather, a stylish lobby and real coffee. Now I come in by the other… Continue reading Efficacious Rituals
Fleeing the Coop
My two linked home computers* are dying, but on one I can read emails and on the other I can post here, though I haven’t bothered swapping the keyboards so it’s hard to type with my fingers fitting to the keys like claws. Normally I use a Microsoft “Natural” Keyboard, and once you’re used that,… Continue reading Fleeing the Coop
Enough of priesthoods
Once again I am grateful to Alistair for his blog post which argues that blogs can offer us a window for awareness of inner wisdom. That's a brief paraphrase of Alistair’s argument, avoiding his use of “exoteric” and “esoteric” (“for the many”, “for the few”): it will become apparent why. He compares blogging with traditional… Continue reading Enough of priesthoods
Fragile
The eastern sky glowed golden yesterday morning, over the chimney pots and the tower of All Saints’ Parish Church. I saw the outline of a hundred wheeling birds, swallows I think, gathering for their departure to North Africa. Later as I went walking, some half-denuded shrubs were full of birds chirping and hopping excitedly from… Continue reading Fragile
Young, heroic and lethal
Almost everyone is baffled by the strangeness of the world today. Not children, of course. They take as they find for adaptation is what they do. On the way to adulthood we choose either to swim with the tide, taking advantage of the way things are, or finding some token way to set ourselves against… Continue reading Young, heroic and lethal
Having no enemies
Many people supposedly educated don’t understand that the meaning of a word is in its use. Dictionary compilers know this of course, for their task consists in collecting usage as lepidopterists collect butterflies, pinning them to a board and labelling them. Dictionary compilers follow, not lead. So, as Alice learned, we are free to use… Continue reading Having no enemies
From a nest of terrorists (2)
The trouble caused by these terrorist plots goes on and on. While hand-cream is still used in this household without triggering major incident, something nasty nearly happened to me this morning. I was returning from the petrol station with a copy of the local paper. I learned that suspects have been arrested in every street… Continue reading From a nest of terrorists (2)
Outsider’s epiphany
I glory in my sure-footedness, and the comfort of a buttoned cardigan†, on a chilly August day, walking through a stubble-field in a slow insistent drizzle. My path takes me behind a row of sturdy houses. Their backyards look untidy from the rear, with canvas chairs left outside to get wet, children’s toys left strewn… Continue reading Outsider’s epiphany
Seagull territory
I posted this in July 2006 . Since then the seagulls have got still more arrogant, the red kites wheel and mew in every sky, the crows and pigeons and magpies make love and war our fence-tops. You need only look out the window. And what is it with the magpies—and rats? Has the coronavirus… Continue reading Seagull territory
The price of civilisation
While I was living in Jamaica, I managed to help earn a few pennies by typing and editing literary and academic texts. One such was a student’s philosophy dissertation. She was not an agile writer or an original thinker but she did put together some others’ work in a coherent way, to the effect that… Continue reading The price of civilisation
Learning How to Live
We don't learn how to live any more. So much has gone or is going. We are losing handwriting, spelling, grammar, walking as a mode of transport, playing on the streets. We are unwittingly performing experiments on our children, for we don’t know what the outcome will be, for them or the world. Does this… Continue reading Learning How to Live
What I owe to Mr Dufeu
Looking that mackerel in the eye, doubting its immortality, accepting the procession of evolution from fish-like ancestors to me, was another step towards scepticism—as to any afterlife existence I might expect. Religion has no direct authority over my beliefs, but one absorbs vague assumptions from the culture one’s brought up in. For sixty years some… Continue reading What I owe to Mr Dufeu
a wayfarer’s notes 