Tag Archives: Richie McCaffery

The Slates

My Great Grandmother conjured a time when as a schoolgirl she wrote on slates and with a simple wipe of a damp cloth civilisations would fall, language was dust. The roof of her last home was a class full of … Continue reading

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The Wall

I stick my finger in a bullet hole in a brick wall and pull out a belemnite. I was told that the key to the past is the present – and this appears to be true. The old worm that … Continue reading

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Blades

He used his sharpening stone so much it was like a tiny footworn church step. Beyond skinning apples I did not know why he needed to be armed with blades, he did not carve nor whittle his name. I was … Continue reading

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Carbost

Our tent is a ragged lung in the wind and rain, the night is breathing and we are the second wind. Around us, in us, the swirling commerce of the wild. The moor is a spitoon for the sky, and … Continue reading

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