In the end I had to stop – knowing somehow it werent just miles Id run over but years – seventy or eighty of them maybe – near clean on out of this terrible century – and Id run home.

Where else would a frightened man run to?

O it were so good Alice! Fields so fresh and green – woods all bursting with leaf – river running pure and clean with fat trout shadowing all the pools. Away yonder I could see mucky old Leeds – only now there werent no smoke hanging over it – and all that grimy granite were washed to a pearly grey – and shooting up above the old quiet chimneys were towers and turrets of gleaming white marble like a picture in a fairy tale.

As for Kirkton it were just the same as I long to be back in only so much better – with all them tumbledown cottages alongside Grindals turned into gardens – and the mill itself had big airy windows and I could see lasses and lads laughing and talking inside – and that old bog meadow out towards Haggs Farm that used to stink so much was all drained and the river banks built up so thered be no more flooding – and High Street seemed wider too with all them slimy cobbles that broke old Tom Steddings head when his horse slipped covered over with level tarmac – and the Maisterhouse away through the trees with its red brick glowing and its pointing gleaming like it were just built yesterday.

Even St Marks looked a lot more welcoming cos the parson had ripped out them gloomy windows that used to terrify us kids with their blood and flames – and in their stead hed put clear new glass which let sun come streaming through like spring water. Even the old tombstones had been cleaned up and I took this fancy to see my own – only I thought on that Id not be buried here with tothers of my name but far away across the sea where none would ever find me – and soon as I thought that I felt myself being hauled back to this awful place.