I entered the Harbour Bookshop in Dartmouth in search of warmth. I had been camped on Dartmoor for a couple of nights, taking part in a cadet weekend, back in the days when I believed the army might be my vocation. Dartmouth is several miles from the Dartmoor National Park and a section of 13 year old boys dreaming of being men marched off the park onto the quiet road that led to Totnes and then followed the broadening line of the river Dart to the sea.
This being England in the height of summer, the rain was falling horizontally. After 10 miles or so of this relentless tempest, the boys would be men no longer. Finally, a bedraggled troop of latter day Just Williams traipsed into Dartmouth in search of warmth and teacakes.
The Harbour Bookshop was a prepossessing sight through the suddenly weakening drizzle.
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