It is a cliché that our childhoods are filled with memories of warm summer days, rarely marred by bad weather. The summer of 1947 epitomises that notion for me and is one reason why I set my novel Summer Day in that particular summer. In England the year began with heavy snow and bitter cold. I had turned five the previous November and should have started school at the end of the Christmas break. Snow drifts had piled up against the ground floor windows of our cottage. Travelling the 3 miles to the village school was impossible. The thaw did … Continue reading Remembering 1947