The church tower may be iron-stained Northamptonshire stone but much of the village is the newer red brick construction that came with the railway. The village is still redolent of early and late turns, for sixty seven years the inhabitants making their way down to the railway for work, or travel to work, or shops. Destination Banbury, Rugby, or further afield, and with the wind in the west the lower part of the village would be mischievously obscured by drifting steam from one's departure. All this for nearly seventy years of days and whispering nights, high summer and winter; when the world was far darker than today, with isolated pools of light below lit windows, the chromatic gleam of oil lit signals steady in the dark, stars to the planets of the trains' lights. Railway noises near or far told of the cadence of snatches from long trains of loose coupled trucks as they started from the yards, or distant volcanic sounds from some freight train notching up overtime on Byfield bank two miles away. These sights, these sounds, filling the senses night and day, but the night time sounds carrying far more clearly downwind across the miles of dark fragrant countryside.
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All before you, in this world, is smoke and shadows.