The Ghost of John Masefield

It’s 8 am and the eastern wind blows through the deserted high street of Rock Ferry. I haven’t spotted any tumbleweed yet, but with the gathering winter wind, yet to reach full potential; it’s surely just around the corner. I seek shelter and the public house is the preferred choice. Approaching the entrance, I remove my gloves and attempt to open the doors. (more…)

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How can you hug a spirit?

When my mum was alive, she sat in the same chair each night, listening to talk shows on her wireless. She usually had headphones on, turning the volume on her hearing aid to zero; probably to avoid my father’s pointless comments of the day from The Liverpool Echo. (more…)