The old man stood, hands on hips, looking around the yard. He saw someone across the yard waving and recognized Remy's bushy gray beard. Remy and Eloise were sat chatting with Steve and Jenny. The old man went over and joined them. He sank down into the white leather sofa. Each of the couples had their own sofas. The sofas, like the awning over them, had all seen better days but oh what luxurious, outdoor decadence.

Every Tuesday the yard came to life. Run by volunteers, raising copious amounts of money, this was where people (mostly Brits) brought and donated their surplus-to-requirement stuff; books, clothes, bric a brac, kitchen sinks. They also came to rummage the stuff, drink real tea, munch homemade cakes and show off their beards and tattoos. All this for the rescue and rehabilitation of dogs.

He got to telling them about a book he had bought there and had finished reading the night before. It was about a british guy who had lived most of his life in Africa. He'd been a cattle farmer and had been involved in fighting the Mau Mau. “What's the Mau Mau?”, Jenny asked.

The white-man's burden,

An old book filled with shadows,

Put down, forgotten.

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