Jaipur in the Sheffield Tap

My mum’s partner, George Marsh, died in August after a short battle with pancreatic cancer. Born on Bassingham Fen, 11 miles southwest of Lincoln, he owned a small farm in Bassingham village on which he worked for almost his entire life. He was 83. To say it’s been tough on mum would be an understatement. She’s already had to say goodbye to her own mum, and to her twin sister, Michelle, who died of a rare form of dementia a few years ago. “I’ve had enough grief for one lifetime,” she tells me. Because of this, over the past couple of months I’ve spent a significant amount of time in Scothern, the village I grew up in, and in Lincoln itself, which is about six miles away as the crow flies. I’m on my way there now, in fact. I don’t drive, but it’s not a difficult journey. I walk to Stockport station, which takes about 20 minutes, and then catch the express train to Sheffield where I connect with the service to Lincoln. Usually, I have about 30 minutes between trains, but today my train i

by Matthew Curtis · source ↗