The Württemberg Hands in the Windmills of my Mind -- Ruth Leigh
I don’t know about you, but at any one time, my mind is filled almost to overflowing with random facts, half-remembered stories and snippets of conversation, both overheard and read. Since I started writing blogs a year and a half ago, I’ve been searching through all the flotsam and jetsam which has washed up on the shore of my consciousness, trawling for treasure. Nearly thirty years ago, for example, I was sitting on a beautiful wide sandy beach in North Devon with my fiancé when a battered camper van came bouncing into the car park. It disgorged three men, three women and a selection of children who set up camp near us. They appeared to be from a closed sect, perhaps Plymouth Brethren. All the women were dressed in plain navy-blue dresses, wore tights and black shoes and had neat kerchiefs pinned to their hair. Each wore a plain, gold wedding ring on the fourth finger of their left hand. It was high summer, and their clothing drew curious looks. They enjoyed a picnic ...
