For the love of Anny
by
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Walking through the old high street was something, I`d take great pleasure in nearly every Sunday. You see it would lead up the old cobbled street and round to the church, with the biggest and over powering Manchen house with surrounding grounds, land that would inspire any artist. My mind would drift to thoughts of times, long be for mine as my shoes tapped on the old cobbled street. As my mind wondered, I noticed things did not smell so sweet today, there was a sudden commotion, about the street. there was a clattering sound coming my way, asudden gush of air whooshed past me like someone tried to push me over. This quit took my breath away for a moment, it took me a moment or two, to gather my self back together. Things looked misty, not as they should as I glanced round everything became clear even though my heart was pounding and my breathing quickend. My dress was suddenly long and so very much not 90s nor was anyone else`s, as I glanced about me there were people carrying baskets, pushing wooden trolleys there clothing was something from times long before mine, it was then I could understand what the smell was, as the street was covered in it. My pace quickened as I suddenly realist, one I had nearly been run over by hores and cart, not to mention, I was not wearing my own clothing this is not 1990. What had happened how was I seeing this, quickly I went through the hustle and bustle of the street, round to the church the bells were ringing as I past the mansion grounds, there was the kissing gates I could see them in the distance, from the pathway of trees leading to the Main gate. This looked quite strange, but at the same time quit familiar, as the trees were much younger than I was used to, quickly as I dashed past all the tress it was as if they seemed to be getting bigger, the faster I got.
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About the Book
When I was about 13 teen, that my first idea came to me when walking through the old high street, this became miked in with what my gran had told me about grate gran working as a cleaner at the Machen and having to travel there from box village. well this spurred my imagination on. over the years I did suffer a grate loss and have used this emotion and thoughts in the book sometimes writing this book become very difficult as I would start to think about the ones I had lost over the years.
About the Author
As a child growing up in the 1980’s, it was a very magical time. I was a very quite child, but this came with somewhat of an advantage, I was very good at listening even dare I admit when i shouldn’t have been i think i know more about my family than anyone else. Anyway most of my, summers were spent outside, with evenings of chatter and telling stories from the past, to spooky story’s and local legends. So you see, this is where my love for story’s began with my little family and i don’t want it to end.