On Middle Hill, Broadway, Worcestershire

I only know them as Leena and Louis. Those are the names I heard them use when an apple tumbled out of Louis' haversack. I collected the apple and brought it back after seeing it bounce down the hill.  Leena was aged about 13 and Louis about 10. They seemed unaffected by chic or cool, and delightfully old-fashioned or mannerly.

Once the rug was laid out they dutifully removed their trainers before shuffling aboard. Once they started to get stuck in, Cath and I headed on down.

Later, at the hospital, Dad was in a sorrowful condition. He had torn away his intravenous cannula for the umteenth time. He had what looked like a black eye from constant rubbing and itched everywhere, evidently a morphine side-effect. He had eaten nothing. I spent a fruitless hour endeavouring to tempt him to take a sip of water. And all the time he rocked slowly, to and fro, uttering wordless sounds of exasperation, occasionally dear o dear, or jeepers creepers.