The marching seasonBMJ 1996; 312 doi: https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.312.7042.1365a (Published 25 May 1996) Cite this as: BMJ 1996;312:1365
- Liam Farrell
Two years ago I completed the rebuilding of my family home. On the day we moved in, I took my little son up to the top of Cnoc Si (the Fairy Mountain), which overlooks us and which, as Percy French once wrote, sweeps down to the sea like a long leather skirt on a short fat lady (OK, I added that last bit myself). There I sat down and wrote letters to both my parents, who have been dead for over ten years. I told them what I had done, how happy and fulfilled I felt that …
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