Millions Like Us by Virginia Nicholson

This is an excellent book.  It took me a good long while to get through it but there is so much to be done outside this time of year so needs must.  But, each woman's story is gripping and Virginia Nicholson has done a superb job of collecting these vignettes and along with her own meticulous research of the era has produced a quintessential book of its kind.

I soaked up every word and detail about the daily life of women during World War II whether she be up to her elbows in diapers, farmer's fields, blood and guts or tea bags.  Against a backdrop of the current political and economic situations of this era are the thoughts and writings of a group of women who share their personal stories of striving for independence, meeting their first love, travel beyond their home county and all while the prospect of losing everything but the clothes on their back, as well as their lives, in the blink of an eye is a reality.  What I didn't expect was that once the final all-clear had been sounded and life went back to some semblance of what it was like before 1939, most of the women missed the excitement of it all.  Not the wondering if each day would be their last but the feeling of respect, pride and accomplishment that comes with position and purpose.

In the early days of World War II, some young women chose the service to join based on the cut of the uniform or even the hat.  Women appearing at airplane factories in baggy overalls were called all sorts of names by the men still employed there.  So prejudiced was the thinking that women should remain by the cooker that even the sight of Princess Elizabeth in her armed forces attire had people tsk tsking.  But once the bombs started to fall the allure of a sharp uniform quickly fell away leaving these young women to get on with the task at hand and to deal with situations that months before would have seemed impossible.  I will never forget the story of one women who knew German and was employed to listen to enemy airmen as they flew in air raids.  The German pilots knew they were being listened in on and would openly flirt over the air waves.  During one mission a familiar pilot was shot down but as his plane spiralled and burned he cried out for his mother before finally crashing.  Facing death while in the capacity of their job was difficult enough but then some of those women would wait on the tarmac until dawn for sight of their lover's plane, long overdue from a mission.  In too many cases the wait was in vain.

Reading Marghanita Laski's To Bed with Grand Music I thought that the adultery and amount of time focused on sex by the characters must have been exaggerated.  Let me tell you, after reading Millions Like Us...it was not!  Not only was there a massive explosion of sexual awakening amongst a group of young women who normally wouldn't have dreamt of being sexually active before marriage but adultery was also extremely common.  So common in fact that people were writing to their spouses about their love lives with their latest partners.  My girlfriend is pregnant or there will be an extra toddler at home when you arrive back were often paragraphs in letters sent home or to soldiers' bases.  One that did make me laugh though was a telegram sent to a husband who had been away for two years saying 'son born stop mother and baby doing well stop'.  Thinking his wife had been having an affair left the soldier feeling despondent but he soon found out his wife was sending word about his mother!

There are so many stories from this book that I could share but I need to get out and enjoy the day.  I know that summertime isn't typically when most people turn their bookish eye to non-fiction but believe me, this book will educate and entertain you with every page.  For those interested in literature from this era you will find quotes and anecdotes from such authors as Barbara Pym, Mollie Panter-Downes, Vera Brittain, Nella Last, Marguerite Patten, Nina Bawden and Helen Forrester.  Need I say more?

White Cliffs and Women During Wartime

A few days ago The Heiress took herself off for an adventure and sent me this photo of a small section of the iconic white cliffs of Dover.  There was an eerie moment when I opened the file as just two hours earlier I had been thinking of asking her to send me some pictures should she ever find herself going out that way.  My train of thought came from being completely engrossed in the book Millions Like Us by Virginia Nicholson.  This is a brilliant work of non-fiction from the World War II era and despite not even hitting the halfway mark yet I thought I would share a few anecdotes....

Lady Diana Cooper, married to Duff Cooper, would carry a bag stuffed with some of her diamonds, 200 GBP in cash, make-up essentials and passport to a cubicle in a subterranean Turkish bath.  Popping a sleeping pill she would spend the night and when the all-clear sounded in the morning she would head home.  Her staff would bring a breakfast tray to her room and she would enjoy The Times, have a nap and then it was off to The Ritz for drinks. 

The Henreys were living in Normandy with their infant son when the Germans crossed into France.  As they watched the coastline burning they knew escape was their only chance for survival.  Madeleine took a last look around the house, gathered a few things and with her husband, their baby and her mother they left for the British Consulate.  She had a British passport, her son had a British father but her mother was barred entry despite their pleas.  Can you just imagine how heartbreaking a scene it would have been for mother and daughter?  I was so relieved to find out that five years later they were reunited, thank goodness.

As Frances walked home, dressed in her first-aid uniform, after a heavy night of bombing, she passed the remains of a building.  A doctor, a nurse and some other wardens shouted for her assistance as they stood over a gaping hole leading down to the basement.  Frances were very tiny, just the right size to squeeze into an opening to administer aid to a man they could hear below crying out in agony.  The space was so tight she had to remove her dress to be lowered into the opening, head first.  The poor man's injuries were so horrific that she vomited repeatedly when she was pulled back up.  The doctor gave her a cloth soaked in chloroform and Frances was lowered once again to end the man's suffering.  It was euthanasia but the poor man welcomed it as he inhaled deeply from the cloth.

Mrs Milburn, like many other women, blew apart the culture of womanhood and began cursing as they never would have dreamed of before and using the word 'hate' with such passion.  I did have to laugh when she wrote that the vermin eating the vegetables in her garden were given names like Hilter, Goering and Himmler before being dispatched.  One woman working in an aircraft factory in Bristol broke three hammers as she worked on Spitfires, each blow she delivered was with Hitler in mind.

We have all read stories or watched films in which young lovers marry in the blink of an eye during wartime but I am still amazed by just how quickly some went about binding themselves in holy wedlock.  In some instances a call for duty after a couple of evenings out dancing with a young girl was enough to have a man down on one knee.  There were also loads of young women and girls sitting through a night of bombing in a tube station vowing to have sex at the first chance they got.  There was no way they were going to die virgins!  Less exciting perhaps, but hilarious, were the two friends who made a pact not to die in their curlers so with every air-raid siren they whipped off their headcover and unrolled their hair, no matter how tired.  Once the all-clear was sounded their curlers were put back in to place.

This is such an addictive read and I can't count how many times I have said to myself 'just one more page and then I'll get going'.

Fair Stood the Wind for France by H.E. Bates

At the unbelievably young age of twenty-two, John Franklin crash lands his Wellington bomber in Occupied France during World War II.  Despite a badly injured arm, he and his four fellow airmen make their way through fields and wood under the cover of night in search of somewhere safe to shelter. 

Franklin's declining health forces the group to trust a French family who take in the airmen despite the threat of being shot for assisting the enemy.  Francoise, the daughter, is still in her teens but exudes both confidence and courage beyond her years.  She soon bonds with Franklin layering this war novel with a love story which Bates blends to perfection.  And make no mistake, the war he writes about is not romanticized and the love affair is far from sentimental.

Each new character appearing on a page brought about new twinges of suspicion.  Every decision to be made from which road to take, where to cross on the river and who to trust could be life or death.  I'm quite sure I held my breath for half of this book and cursed everything that made me have to put it down. 

If you need further convincing here is the link to Reading Matters and thank you to Kimbofo for leading me to a stellar read.

Mrs Miniver by Jan Struther

'She rearranged the fire a little, mostly for the pleasure of handling the steel poker, and then sat down by it.  Tea was already laid: there were honey sandwiches, brandy-snaps, and small ratafia biscuits; and there would, she knew, be crumpets.'

Coincidentally I've just laid a fire myself but something tells me that Mrs Miniver wouldn't have had to wash the black from her hands twice, pull splinters from her t-shirt or had a dizzy spell from huffing and puffing to get things going.  I digress.

Like so many others I connected Mrs Miniver with the film starring Greer Garson but this book isn't that at all.  It's better.  The character was created when Jan Struther was asked to write a series of articles about an ordinary woman for The Times.  Despite Struther's claims that the episodes she wrote about bore no resemblance to her own family life her followers weren't buying it.

There is a poignant story about the whole family arriving at the Town Hall to be fitted for gas masks at the outbreak of war.

 '...a very small child bursting into a wail of dismay on catching sight of its mother disguised in a black snout; the mother's muffled reassurances - "It's on'y Mum, duck."...'

 There were equally touching stories but with a humourous touch such as the story about her daughter, Judy, choosing which doll in the shop she liked best. 

"You see, it would be so awful to pick the wrong one.  I mean, suppose you could have gone and bought me in the shop instead of just having me; you might have made a mistake and chose Marigold Thompson instead."
Mrs Miniver's mouth twitched.  She couldn't somehow imagine herself choosing Marigold Thompson.  A nice child, but pudding-faced.
"Well," she said, "I like Marigold."
"Oh, so do I.  But what I mean is, she wouldn't have done for you.  And what's more," pursued Judy, "Marigold's mother wouldn't have done for me.  At all," she added with conviction.

Each vignette sparkles in its own way but the ones surrounding the Christmas season were timely and so charming.  And some things never change...

'At intervals she tried to pretend that Christmas Day fell on the 5th of December, or alternatively, that all her friends and relations lived in South Africa and that she had to catch an early mail; but it was no use.'

There is no doubt about Jan Struther's sense of humour or that she would have been just the sort of person people gravitated towards.  I don't think I've ever laughed out loud while reading an introduction before but the description of her family dressing up a mannequin to surprise unsuspecting guests in the loo was hilarious!

With headings such as London in August, A Country House Visit, On Hampstead Heath or A Drive to Scotland, Mrs Miniver is the quintessential 'lovely' book.  I only wished it had four times as many pages.

Coal House and Convocation

Oh I do love the internet!  This past week we have been rationing out episodes of Coal House at War each night.  The BBC produces some fabulous series and documentaries and though it may take awhile, in this case two years, to view them over here I say better late than never.

Three families were deposited in Stacked Square, situated in South Wales, to live as authentically as possible to 1944.  Ration books, power outages, air raids and very little in the way of hygiene products seem at first to be overwhelming.  But it's remarkable how after just one month the families involved not only adapt but embrace their new way of life chock full of hard work, elbow grease and inconvenience.  The arrival of four Bevin Boys to work in the mines alongside the other men add a bit of romance for teenager Annie Starr and speculation for everyone else.  The men toil away in the cramped, wet coal mines while the women work at a munitions factory to support the war effort.  Those washerwomen headscarves and a bit of red lipstick make women look gorgeous, I don't care what anyone says.  Scant rations and scratchy toilet paper lead to pilfering from the factory stocks thanks to the aid of oversize ladies knickers to hide things in.  And the children were such sweethearts, bravely taking their malt extract and cod liver oil by the gulpful everyday...resulting in an interesting change of bathroom habits much to the horror of their mums!

Each episode showing a 'simpler time' has been a welcome relief after days full of talk about visas, timetables and financial statements for The Heiress' time overseas and shopping for just the right outfit for convocation.  Honestly, forget tears at the prospect of parting for what could be years, I can't wait to get back to being an empty nester!

The sea of gowns, bouquets of roses, smiling faces, proud parents and the height of some of the young ladies shoes made for a day full of wonder.  This graduating class also marks the university's centenary which added to the excitement.  Craig Kielburger and his brother, Marc, were granted honorary Doctor of Law degrees with Craig delivering an impressive speech - without notes - about children and poverty in developing nations.  Seeing your child stroll the red carpet behind a robed Marshal, carrying the Sceptre, while fanfare is being played can cause your eyes to sting just a bit.  A beaming smile as she looked back over her shoulder at us a few times made all the sacrifice worthwhile.  Though I couldn't help but wonder how many of these emerging adults still need reminding to put their dishes in the dishwasher or tidy their bathroom? 

It has been a busy week full of the past, the present and talk about the future.  There was also the matter of helping some friends split and stack countless cords of wood, during a heatwave, from a tree they had to cut down in their yard.  My Wonder Woman breastplate has been coming in awfully handy lately I tell you.  Anyway, my hope of getting a nice photo of The Heiress receiving her hood were dashed by things moving along too swiftly and a stream of the recently hooded walking in front of my view.  But a wee glimpse of one end of the stage gives you a slight impression of what things were like.

Nourishment by Gerard Woodward

While busily catching up on the writings of twentieth century authors I have been neglecting new books popping up at the library.  When this quirky tale appeared on the list of new books in the catalogue I was intrigued.  Set during the Blitz it began ticking boxes but then things got weird.  Challenging myself to get out of my comfort zone of feminine middlebrow novels I plowed ahead.

Tory Pace has sent her three children to the Cotswolds to escape the bombs and lives with her mother, Emily Head, at 17 Peter Street in London.  While Tory works at a gelatine factory, Mrs Head gets on with keeping the house and cooking the meals.

The first part of the book is darkly humorous.  Dandos, the butcher shop, is bombed and in fabulous detail the author paints a picture of rashers of bacon strewn everywhere.  Mrs Head spies a joint of meat in the rubble and slips it into her mesh bag to roast for the evening meal.  The trouble is, nobody has found the body of the butcher!  Eating dinner could prove to be an act of cannibalism and I was riveted by each poke of the knife.

Tory's husband, Donald, has been captured by the Nazis and is now a POW.  He is allowed to write heavily-censored letters home and has the oddest request...he asks Tory to write erotic letters, the racier the better.  Quite beside herself with repugnance and embarrassment she skirts the issue by writing back using gardening as a metaphor for sex.

'Darling, imagine me as a sagging crimson rose that wants watering.  Imagine yourself as the gardener, walking up the path to my dry rose bed, with a watering-can, full to the lip with water...'

Donald is not impressed and responds...'I did not ask you for an essay on the art of managing my allotment.'

George Farraway owns the gelatine factory and takes an interest in Tory and an affair is soon in full bloom.  Finding herself pregnant she decides to pass the baby off as one she discovered in the dusty rubble of a bombed home in Leicester.  It's one thing to convince the neighbours but quite another when Donald is liberated and the children are brought home from the Cotswolds.  And what's more they have come home with West Country accents.  They have some pretty tough questions and her son, Tom, even goes so far as to suggest his mother has been kidnapped and replaced by an impostor!

Up until this point the book is witty, hilarious, entertaining, whimsical and darkly comedic...I loved it.  Unfortunately, after that it lost its spark for me.  Donald is understandably changed but nasty beyond caring about and a tragedy brought my mood down even further. 

The title suggests the different types of nourishment people need in order to thrive and the result when it is absent.  Woodward had an entertaining story going but he lost me along the way.  And just in case you're wondering, there really isn't anything too suggestive in the book so don't let that put you off.

Few Eggs and No Oranges by Vere Hodgson

April 1941

Thursday, 17th - Well, last night was a fiendish raid, and no mistake.  All night long they thrummed over our heads and what we heard coming down is more than can be put into words.  It was like one of the worst nights of last Autumn, and even then I don't remember hearing the sky so full, incessantly, hour after hour, of bombers zooming overhead.

Many of the images we see of the Blitz are in black and white.  Reading Vere's account of daily life as the bombs fell transformed those images into vivid colour for me.

Imagine the sounds of gunfire and fighter planes roaring overhead almost nightly as you fell into bed in a state of exhaustion.  The task of keeping your ear to the ground for word of a shipment of precious fruit and vegetables day after day was a necessity.  The quest for reasonably priced linens to replace threadbare sheets was more often than not a fruitless one.  The communal cat wasn't spared and had his meagre milk ration watered down when supplies were scarce.  He didn't seem to go too hungry though as Vere gave him a talking to about the number of mice spotted scurrying about the place.

Vere's numerous acts of kindness humbled me again and again when several times she was presented with an extra ration of cheese or meat and immediately shared with friends.  During many air raids, there were elderly women to drag under desks or make quick cups of tea for.  A stirrup-pump was always close at hand for putting out incendiary fires and on one occasion, a chimney fire that had nothing to do with the war.  Pulling on a pair of wellies and pitching in wherever help was needed empowered Vere.

During the month of April 1940, there was a bus strike and I laughed at the description of soldiers replacing the drivers.  Passengers were directing them through the streets of London as best they could but occasionally wrong turns were made and they would end up lost.  With bricks and debris lying in piles everywhere it must have taken ages to get anywhere.

Not only does this fascinating diary offer a glimpse of the home front, it offers a lesson in the politics of the day in a very readable manner.  Vere was an ardent fan of Churchill, had harsh words for Hitler and Mussolini and was heartbroken by news of lost fleets during action.  Her reports of invasion, treatment of POW's in Japanese war camps and the horror of the holocaust as they were reported in the papers are riveting.

Reaching the end of the war and the diary, I couldn't help feeling emotional as the black-outs were ripped from their place over windows and doors.  Vere felt it was too good to be true and there was a slight nervousness to embrace a sunlit room.  When victory is announced crowds stream toward Trafalgar Square, Downing Street and Whitehall. 

'Precisely at 3 pm Big Ben's chimes told us the moment was about to begin.  All traffic stopped.  The mounted policeman wiped the sweat from his brow.  All was still.  How wonderful to be standing in Whitehall, in the shadow of the House of Commons, listening to That Voice which had steered us from our darkest hours to the daylight of deliverance.' 

Out came the steamed puddings saved for such a day and cups of whatever people wanted.  And with any luck the eggs and oranges weren't far behind.

(photo credit - John Hinde)

The Blitz in a Book

There is a sense of guilt in being tucked up safely in your bed each night while reading an account of the Blitz.  With each page I am ever more enthralled with Vere Hodgson and her ability to record the bombings, sometimes as planes roar overhead, in Few Eggs and No Oranges.  I don't know that I would have coped anywhere near so well if my windows were rattling and the foundations were shaking due to enemy attack.  At this point, it has become commonplace for Vere to venture out in her dressing gown to check for damage in the middle of the night.  Should you meet up with some neighbours then why not have a cup of tea?  The exhaustion, not to mention the terror, must surely have done some citizens in but Vere endures it all and then writes happily about her luck in finding some cheese or tomatoes in the shop.  The slogan 'Keep Calm and Carry On' has never been so apparent.

This morning I thought I would try to find some images that would link the bombings and found the photo above.  It is St Thomas Hospital the night after a raid.  Vere's entry for Thursday, September 12, 1940...

'Felt very second-rate.  Arrived at office at 10:15 as I overslept.  What a night!  It seems that now we have mobile guns on Lorries going about the town, and we can also hear guns from destroyers in the Thames.  According to Mr Churchill Invasion is Imminent.  Hitler has it all ready from Norway to Boulogne, and we must be on our toes for the next two weeks!  Felt better as the day proceeded.  Warning in the afternoon.  Began to hear details of the damage.  Very upsetting.  Bow Church seems badly hit; St Thomas' Hospital; Gt Ormond St Hospital; Holburn - but not Staple Inn.

To find an image of the destruction Vere wrote about was thrilling and I will continue trying to match up photos with her entries.  At the midway point of this 600 page fascinating history lesson I couldn't wait to share a little of it with anyone who has been wondering how this reads.  More to follow once I have finished.

Their Finest Hour and a Half

I've spent many happy hours with this book and a cup of tea over the past few weeks. So rich in detail that I savoured every page, was sorry when it ended and felt sad to remove it from the 'Currently Reading' section of my sidebar. There are several storylines with a lively cast of characters and even a very lovable dog. My favourite was the story of Edith Beadmore, working as a wardrobe assistant at Madame Tussuad's. She rents a room in a house and after yet another round of air-raid sirens, she calmly smooths her bed covers before making her way to the Anderson shelter. Their neighbourhood takes a hit and Edith ends up knocked to the ground in the garden, her mouth full of dirt. A few doors down she witnesses '...the Raleighs' bathroom was shamelessly displayed, a used towel abandoned on the lino, the wallpaper blotched with damp, while in the next room a pink-quilted double bed protruded over the broken floorboards like a vulgar tongue.' Edith experiences two more bombings and the way that Evans writes about that moment between the shrill soaring of a bomb and the moment of impact will have you holding your breath. There is also a relationship in store for Edith that I found completely fascinating to watch develop but enough about that, you'll have to read the book. Catrin Cole is a young copywriter who is drafted by the Ministry of Information to write 'the voice of women' in propaganda films. The storylines were campy and delightful and how can you not smile when reading about So-Bee-Fee gravy browning? Serendipity presents itself in the form of twins, Lily and Rose Stirling, whose story about the rescue of 54 soldiers stranded in Dunkirk produces Catrin's greatest chance for exposure. A film is created with the storyline being hugely exaggerated but hey, if it boosts the country's morale then what's the harm? Enter Ambrose Hilliard, an aging movie star from the twenties, who can't accept that his days of being the handsome lead are over. There are many wonderful peripheral characters in this book. I melted at Cerberus, the dog who is adopted begrudgingly by Ambrose. Even he can't escape the makeup chair when he has to step in as understudy for another dog and has So-Bee-Fee gravy browning and shoe polish applied to the white bit on his nose. Due to rationing he had to eat whatever came his way, sirens and bombs an ever present source of terror but what a trooper! I loved reading about the minutiae of life around London, rationing, the Tube, Oxford Street, Regent Street, Trafalgar Square, St Paul's and St Pancras not to mention the meals made with mock this and that. The mince pies made with grated parsnip lacked that festive appeal though I must say. Since discovering books by Mollie Panter-Downes, Marghanita Laski and Dorothy Whipple I do believe that stories about this era are best when written by people from this era. But Lissa Evans has done a fantastic job of coming quite close and to stand behind the aforementioned ladies in this genre is nothing to sneeze at. I loved this book and with the rich detail I know that a second reading will only add to its pleasure.

A Delightful Book

Last week, while working on the circulation desk at the library, a girl signed out a book that caught my eye.  I asked her if she would mind if I had a peek, she smiled in such a proud way. She knew that I knew she had found something special.

My Secret War Diary by Flossie Albright is written for children but will delight adults like me! It's absolutely chock full of wonderful journal writing, fold-out letters and cards and drawings. I placed a hold so that I could enjoy every entry and ended up placing an order through the library for my own copy.

Marcia Williams is the author and illustrator of this work, I'll be on the lookout for more of her children's books as I really like her style. I'm going to save further exploring of this title until my own copy arrives but I thought that I would share this with others that may also enjoy books in this format and of this era.

Little Boy Lost

Timing is everything. There were three pages left to read in my book and I wanted to be alone when I read them. R was leaving for work so I said my good-byes and prepared for the ending. Little Boy Lost by Marghanita Laski is the story of a man who sets out to find his son, lost to him during World War II. Hilary had fled the Germans after seeing his newborn son only briefly, his wife Lisa too weak to follow. He later learns that his wife was murdered by the Gestapo but not before she handed over their son to another woman. Through further tragedy there is now a trail to follow which may or may not lead Hilary to this boy who is now almost five years old. The sweetest boy with the skinniest legs and huge brown eyes is presented to Hilary. Is this urchin his son? Does he even want this child to be his son, forcing him to open his heart again? As a woman reading this book I was screaming at Hilary to take the boy and run. The term 'dolt' came to mind more than a few times! The last three pages had me holding my breath and I had absolutely steeled myself to an ending, the ending I had become convinced would play out. The last sentence read, I took a breath and felt the sting in my eyes. There was a review written by a blogger which started 'Marghanita Laski, F__ you!' and I certainly understand where that emotion was coming from. My feelings are 'Marghanita Laski, thank you'. My next read arrived right on schedule in today's mail. I may have to mull over Little Boy Lost for the evening and a friend is stopping by for a visit but Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger will be on my nightstand waiting.

When the Wind Blows

Meet Jim and Hilda Bloggs. They are the characters through which Raymond Briggs tells the story of the impact of nuclear war. They could be anyone's grandparents.

The story starts off in colourful detail. Jim, having lived through The Blitz, hears that war could once again be rearing it's ugly head. He's picked up some leaflets from the library on how to prepare for "The Bomb". Hilda worries about Jim ruining the paintwork and what will happen to their milk order. And no way is she using anything other than a toilet for the bathroom!

This war will be different from the one he remembers. As with many things, the memories of World War II become a little less frightening with the passing of time. Sleeping in a Morrison shelter was fun and wasn't it nice to hear Vera Lynn singing. Spitfires and Hurricanes in the blue skies over cornfields, those were the days.

The airplanes that will come this time have even more sinister cargo on board.

This is where you start to feel quite sick for these two characters. With the turning of a page you see only white and know that the worst has happened, The Bomb has been dropped. There is no longer very much colour in the illustrations and we watch these two lovely people struggle to maintain life as normal while being affected by radiation sickness. The stiff upper lip and all that, ever present until the end. Even writing about this story brings tears to my eyes and I will never forget it. For Raymond Briggs to take you from smiling to tears in less than an hour in comic book form shows how talented he is. An amazing piece of work.

Ethel & Ernest

Thanks to Book Psmith for posting about this delightful book. You just know it's going to be charming by the illustration on the cover.

The story is told, and illustrated, by Raymond Briggs. We learn how his parents met in 1928, were married, struggled to have a child, endured WWII and see Raymond through school.

All too quickly Ethel & Ernest go through the stages of family life. Their son, Raymond, does such a wonderful job of taking us along for the ride. This book will make you smile and then feel sad when it comes to an end. At a mere 103 pages, you can read it while you drink a pot of tea, I highly recommend it. Thanks Book Psmith!