Category: Rebecca Lewis

  Gad’s Hill, Christmas Eve, 1869   It is mid-afternoon and the light, meagre at best, is fading fast from the day. Charles is restless at his desk.  The writing is progressing slowly, much more slowly than he should like. He cannot settle – the dreadful pain that has tormented him for months on end will not allow it. To remedy this he drinks a brandy, makes excuses to his family, much occupied with the decorating of the Christmas tree, and strolls down the hill towards the town. He strides as best he can – his left foot dragging slightly – across the Rochester Bridge, flourishing his cane before him and greeting the occasional well-wisher with a nod and smile. Read More