I thought again of our snug place in the leaves under the fallen tree, looking out on to the rising hill with the smoky curtain of rain falling into the stiff still green bracken, and the curiously high squeaking of some solitary wood pigeons and then their gurgling coo. An eternal moment always dissolving which will yet re-occur a thousand, thousand times to a thousand, thousand other people when we are dead, who will look out in the same way through the windows in their heads and see the falling rain, the bracken, the pattern of the oak bark, and wonder, and go on wondering for years.
Denton Welch, The Journals of Denton Welch, Allison and Busby (1984)
Hi again Anthony,
Maurice Denton Welch: Born 29 March, 1915. Died December 30, 1948. Today is the centenary of DW’s birth.
Thank you, Mark. I’m delighted to know that in time to raise a glass of wine over lunch to toast Denton’s birthday.
Even better, Mark, to mark the centenary I shall toast with a gin and lime.
Hurrah. That pleases me very much.