Christmas Eve 1971

Liz McNeill Taylor

With four subdued children under twelve and a dog I drove from London to a village in the Scottish Borders, arriving at a half empty cottage as darkness was drawing in.

I drove with grim concentration, counting off the miles as they sped past, because I was running away from home. The thought of spending Christmas in my own house was beyond enduring. I had to get away from the telephone because it kept ringing and every time I answered it a concerned voice would say, Ive just heard the most awful rumour. It cant be true, can it? ... (continues)