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Thinking back to Oldton, it now seems to me like some strange dream, or that moment between asleep and awake on a summer morning, when the light breaks through closed curtains and falls onto my face. I now live in London, and the grind of every day life slowly rasps away at these delicate memories of my childhood in the rolling fields surrounding Oldton.

What was the name of the friendly Butcher? I used to play with his daughter, innocent and sweet; young and full of dreams.

Where are they now?



not sure what the butcher's name was, but we do have - from Douglas - a photo of his shop: http://timwright.typepad.com/your_oldton/2004/06/the_butchers.html

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