'Y'see lad,' the old man said, 'I were never able to fly like you, 'cause I didn't have the wings for it. When I were your age little boys didn't go scurrying about the garden waving their arms about.' He shook his head sadly, brushing away the long grey hair which had fallen over his eyes and scowling.

'Mother wouldn't hear o'it, not wi' Seekers hanging about the place and no father around to protect us. The war were just about over, beautiful country wasting into dust. Thought it would get better, but the real horror were just beginning.'  ...read more »

The boy lived with his mother and several arrogant cats in a small stone cottage, in an anonymous village, in the far north of England. An ancient aga spluttered and grumbled at them under a huge stone chimney in the center of the room, half-heartedly heating the cluttered room for a radius of about two feet. Thomas jumped up onto the hotplates and curled up contentedly.

Mother and son perched on rickety worm-eaten chairs around a small oak table, stoically munching through an uninspiring combination of shrivelled and insect-plagued garden vegetables and potatoes.  ...read more »