There was a deep grumble about the men in the pub. It was mid February and the weather was bleak. A grey fug lay over the land and there had been no sign of the sun or blue sky since the week after Christmas. The sky was grey and stayed grey and whatever colour there may have been in the hills from the grass and the heather had been washed out by the weather. There was no rain to complain about although the wind that came in from the sea filled the air with wet and it hung in the air and filled all the corners with a penetrating damp. There was no throwing it off and despite the chill everything was clammy to touch.

The grey weather had been so persistent that had even managed to drain the talk from the men. The weather and its changes was the…