Back in the late 1950s, Sarah and I—both just nineteen—came to America. We had left Britain, where post-war ration books were still in use. Sarah was to train horses and riders for Jamie Kreuz at Bryn Mawr Farms outside Philadelphia. I was to work for the Insurance Company of North America in Philadelphia and help Sarah on weekends.
Jamie picked us up at the airport, but by the time we reached the farm we were in the midst of a snowstorm and a power outage. Our first night was spent in total darkness. It was perhaps merciful that we could not see the mess.To read more, a subscription is required. Log in or click here to subscribe.