Something of a rural nineteen fifties hippy before that term had ever been used. She followed the local hunt in the fall and winter, looking striking...y attractive in her tan jodhpurs, sweater, polished riding boots and dark jacket and with her short, wavy dark hair peeking our from under her cap. The riding crop she carried and slapped against her legs gave her a commanding air, too which must have had its own appeal to some subliminal appetite on my part. The previous summer when I was. I didn’t agree, of course, but it was true. She once admitted to being eight stone and two pounds. I was seven stone and ten pounds. [for those of a metric disposition, a pound is about half a kilogramme and a stone is fourteen pounds] I was thin, verging on weedy. Wiry. I called it. Still, Miss Catterick was of the age and generation that reckoned a women needed a man to cope with life – though she never felt that about herself, of course. She was one of the best women I ever knew. Kind,. More

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