Mark Hedges, Editor
My first car was a Mini. Its brown colour made it look like a mobile cowpat, but it hid the rust as best it could. It was a gift from a maiden aunt, who pottered around Oxfordshire in it. She wasn’t one for modish things such as a radio, so my six-hour journeys to Durham University were spent staring at the mile counter waiting for round numbers or parts of the Fibonacci sequence to appear. I used to go everywhere in it with my border terrier and to horse events (and the pub) with my great friend, Rachel. The car had some magic —40 years later, Rachel became my wife.
Levison Wood, explorer, writer and photographer
Ah, my first car—a trusty old silver Audi A4 1.9 TDi, the quintessential ride for young officers in the British Army in about 2005. At 23, I finally felt like a grown-up after years of globetrotting and zipping around Stoke in my mum’s Fiat Punto. The Audi was a charming beast, complete with torn leather seats, questionable radio reception and an unparalleled ability to guzzle diesel. I cherished those two years, navigating the back roads of Camberley and Essex with a mix of pride and mild embarrassment. Alas, she met her fate in the Colchester Parachute Regiment car park, abandoned when I deployed to Afghanistan. A bittersweet farewell to my warrior’s chariot.
Paula Lester, Managing and Features Editor
Esta historia es de la edición September 03, 2024 de Country Life UK.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
