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Richard on October 21st, 2016

Ronald Blythe recalls cycle rides as a boy, splashing through puddles IT IS six in the morning. It is still dark, and raining steadily. The horses will be huddled beneath the tall hedge, their coats shining; the cats will be fast asleep in each other’s paws; the birds will be silent. Yesterday, an old friend and […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford 21 October 2016

Richard on October 14th, 2016

The relic of a long-dead archbishop proved useful to a young Ronald Blythe SO HULL proclaims itself a city of culture. But how could it not be? Every city is a city of culture; every town a town of culture; every village a village of culture. How could they not be? I do not know […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford 14 October 2016

Richard on October 7th, 2016

Ronald Blythe thinks of a Hardy novel, and of walks on Cornish cliffs NEXT Sunday is harvest evensong, the churchwarden Meriel says. I must tell my old farmhouse. There is so little to remind it of its ancient purpose: the barns, the stackyard, the threshing floor. Just my garden and the tall ash trees which were […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford 7 October 2016

Richard on October 7th, 2016

The changing season leads Ronald Blythe to think of two artists THERE are degrees of summer passing and of autumn arriving, subtle though they can be. Walking in the garden early, there are a few fresh leaves on the grass, but, at the same time, a promising warmth. I remember that it is a quarter day, when […]

Continue reading about Word from Wormingford 30 September 2016