Harry Weeks - The Keeper's Son

It was plain to see the years were heavy upon him. More and more often he rested in the big reclining chair before television. Always watching it - well, not really. Many times a wistful expression crossed his face, but with eyes closing, this disappeared and a look of pure enjoyment took over. One could see that although present in body, his mind and vision were far away. Where did he go? "Tell me about it," I asked, and he did. This story - my hubsand's story, and these are the words that took me back to share his boyhood - to a time I had not known and a place I had never been.
By Alice Weeks