Mothers are inscrutable beings to their sons, always.

Dim loneliness came imperceivably into the fields and he turned back. The birds piped oddly some wind was caressing the higher foliage, turning it all one way, the way home. Telegraph poles ahead looked like half-used pencils the small cross on the steeple glittered with a sharp and shapely permanence.

Father was an atheist he had even joined the Skeleton Army - a club of men who went about in masks or black faces, with ribald placards and a brass band, to make war upon the Salvation Army.