shooting
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Out West
I went out west to shoot woodcock; out beyond Innermessan to the edge of Galloway. Then shoving up through birch trees and bracken banks, I followed the dog and came upon a view of the sea below me. There was Antrim and the Mull of Kintyre, with boats ploughing ruts into the flat black water Continue reading
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“Shout on, Morgan. You’ll be nothing tomorrow”
Swn y galon fach yn torri, 1952
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