‘They were bad times’.

Ted Gelsthorpe sighed as he spoke to his wife in the chair opposite. He sat back in his own chair and looked at the fire that he had just lit. The paper was burning well, and the kindling was now alight. He reached over and threw a few small logs from the back garden into the stove and closed the door.

‘What do you make of it all, Liz?’ It’s a rum do an’ all, as Da’ wud ‘a’ sed!’  

Gelsthorpe laughed as he remembered his father’s broad Yorkshire accent. He looked across at the armchair where his wife used to sit and do her knitting. If only she were still alive. He could have coped with all this! She would have told him what to do!     

He stared out o...

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