Search Results for 'Gregory Raftery'

“HE LEFT them there, standing under the sycamore tree, the two dray horses, the plough lying on its side nearby, the soil fresh on its blade. And of himself, not a sign ever of him anywhere. Gone. Like the wind. Just like that. Done a bunk, as they say...”

Few scenes can compare with the Ballynahinch river, it thick with salmon, and you with a rod in your hand.