He was my grandad, a Yorkshire farmer, who worked all hours that the good light sends, except sundays. And his three-time holidays - those being his exciting trips to France, where his expert digging abilities were put to the utmost use, while he was being shot at, and wounded, between return trips.
His work and farm and the Yorkshire country-side, the animals and birds, the sea-side resorts, are told from childhood memory.
A requested Amazon review said this book was akin to the unreadable poetry of a monster from Outer Space ("vogon").
But in the movie, Dead Poets Society, Robin Williams reads an anthology introduction that subjects poetry to the star rating system, then rips it out and throws it in the bin.