Chapter 7
For once, Monday was a good day at work. I’d managed to persuade Miss Finch, Gran’s ex-neighbour and wine-maker extraordinaire, to be the storyteller for the children’s section. She’d never married, and as she didn’t have any grandchildren to spoil, she relished the opportunity to fulfill the grandmotherly role. I well remember her stories when I was little. I spent most of my weekends with Gran, and I’d often nip next door to see Miss Finch. She’d sit me down, give me one of her homemade biscuits and a bottle of pop; I only sampled her wine that one time. She’d then tell me about life in ‘the olden days’. I was never sure how true these stories were, but I would sit there for hours, enraptured by her words. She not only had a good command of language, she told her stories in in
