All the dark corners
It became a habit that I'd take the boys over to see Granny on a Sunday morning. When they were babies, it was a huge solace for me. She'd sit cradling them and talking to them and the baby who'd been noisy all night was calmed. As they grew up, we'd spend our time outside in the garden in which I'd grown up. About 3/4 of an acre of meadow which she had worked tirelessly and stubbornly to tame. There were trees that had been planted when I was a small girl, now 30 feet high, and my own conker tree which had grown into an enormous beauty bearing conkers of her own. As the boys grew and did their own campfires (who could forget the paraffin-flavoured drop scones? or the stew into which had accidentally fallen a large clump of grass, only discovered upon serving?), I began get on with jobs elsewhere in the garden. Whilst the boys became more self-sufficient, Granny became more elderly and I took over the garden. Increasingly, I'd head over on...