Laurie Lee
Laurie Lee
Laurence Edward Alan "Laurie" Lee, MBEwas an English poet, novelist and screenwriter, who was brought up in the village of Slad and went to the Central Boys' School, Stroud, Gloucestershire. His most famous work was an autobiographical trilogy which consisted of Cider with Rosie, As I Walked Out One Midsummer Morningand A Moment of War. The first volume recounts his childhood in the Slad Valley. The second deals with his leaving home for London and his first visit to Spain...
NationalityEnglish
ProfessionPoet
Date of Birth26 June 1914
The sun sets down at the end of the valley over the Severn and there's this afterglow which catches those quarries and it just sits there glowing when the light is gone from everywhere else in the valley - it holds the light to the last drop.
I was reminding them of their lives and I think that was why it was read so much, but this was quite unintentional and unpredictable.
It was the end of a semi-feudal life and it was also the beginning of one's own life.
I was last among the long grass and I'd never seen long grass and never been on my own and out of sight of humans before.
For anyone who knows Framingham, they're a big service provider.
I remember trying to impress her by writing an essay about the Rocky Mountains and the bears and it was the first bad review I ever had - shameful!
We've heard some concerns, and we've been troubleshooting, We're satisfied. We think Express Scripts is a very good partner.
What happened was unpredictable but it also reminded many readers of their beginnings and their family recollections.
That last winter was a tragic story and I got no personal honour out of it but I was a witness to it.
I have been sitting watching that ever since I came back, the continuous variations of light and shadow.
I expected to be shot at any moment and if they had done I would have understood, that they couldn't take risks with someone foolhardy or so unpredictable.
For the first time I was learning how much easier it was to leave than to stay behind and love.
At best, love is simply the slipping of a hand in another's, of knowing you are where you belong at last, and of exchanging through the eyes that all-consuming regard which ignores everybody else on earth.
The Welsh are not like any other people in Britain, and they know how separate they are. They are the Celts, the tough little wine-dark race who were the original possessors of the island, who never mixed with the invaders coming later from the east, but were slowly driven into the western mountains.