These visits leave me hollow, like a body no longer possessed, grasping at the veil as it closes again over questions unanswered and closure denied. And yet… there is hope.

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The Land of Saints

St Mawes is a name that evokes an immediate response from me. Autumn half term, raincoat rattling around my ears, the smell of kelp and the call of oyster catchers and a steaming pasty on the harbour wall.

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