Far beyond the reach of the dread hand of Dr Beeching, where the world can still count to 12... deep in the verdant never-where, amply bosomed in shire lore, is the still beating heart of England.
Of ploughman, pottage and postgate.
Where can be heard the gentle sound of leather on nun, and where there is always a Marple, a Bertie, a Julian, Anne, George, Dick and Timmy should the need arise.
Sumer is a-coming and we must away to the improbable hearths and homes of Westleigh Turpin!
Put down your Walton, foreswear your Cobbett and lob your Hazlitts high!
There will always be an England, and the play is about to begin...
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