I knew that my friend Phoebe had given me Another Time, Another Place (1983) by Jessie Kesson as a birthday present, but I hadn’t remembered that it was as far back as 2015. In my head it was last year. Well, this project and its 120 pages are good bedfellows, and I’ve now read it.
Times like these, the young women felt imprisoned within the circumference of a field. Trapped by the monotony of work that wearied the body and dulled the mind. Rome had been taken. The Allies had landed in Normandy, she’d heard that on the wireless. ‘News’ that had caused great excitement in the bothy, crowded with friends, gesticulating in wild debate. Loud voices in dispute. Names falling casually from their tongues, out of books from her school-room days. The Alban Hills. The Tibrus…. ‘O Tibrus. Father Tibrus. To whom the Romans pray…’ Even in her schooldays, those names had sounded unreal. Outdistanced by centuries, from another time. Another place. The workers in the fields made no mention of such happenings. All their urgency was concentrated on reaching the end riggs at the top of the field. The long line of army jeeps roaring down along the main road provided nothing more than a moment for straightening their backs, never impinging on the consciousness of the turnip field.
The story is set in 1944, as three Italian prisoners of war start working as farmhands in a remote part of Scotland – and the effect this has on the various inhabitants of the village.
I’m just going to leave this one with the quote, I think. Because the writing was often rather lovely – but I found it quite hard to work out exactly what was going on. One character seemed to die, and then appeared again… Anyway, I enjoyed it for the atmosphere and the beautiful turns of phrase, and perhaps someone can explain what happens to me.
I’m no help, I’m afraid, I’ve never read this one… but the cover of the edition pictured is gorgeous!! :)