When my parents went back to their roots, to low ceilinged views of a pub with ducks, a shop, a Cotswold stone church, painstakingly restored   they found their kind long gone. I see them in a neighbour’s lounge among devotees of sipping of dispensing conversation in morsels.   Mum bears her small badge of […]
To access this content, you must be a subscriber to New Welsh Review. Subscribe today Existing subscribers, log in to view this content.