Angels and Men

by Catherine Fox

She found herself thinking about the curly-haired girl. A china doll, smiling and showing its pearly little teeth. A row of china dolls, she thought suddenly. Then she knew. The girl was the oldest daughter of the vicar of a parish near her father’s. She probably even went to the same school as I did. What will she know about me? What will she have heard? This year will not be the blank volume I have designed for myself. There is already a preface.

Men in their buildings. Men in their churches. In charge. In control. They had their feet firmly on the ground, while high over their heads went the women and the angels, walking on the wings of the wind.

‘I can but trust that good shall fall At last – far off – at last, to all And every winter change to spring.’