His son hired me. His son was fifty-three years old and had never heard his father tell a single story about the three years he spent in the Royal Navy between 1942 and 1945. The father was ninety-one, still sharp, still living alone in Perth. The son wanted a book.
Comments (6)
Extraordinary.
This is exactly why the fee is never the fee. It is the years you carried the training.
The son reading it for an hour and forty minutes at the funeral. Nobody left. That is a career.