Branagh did what he always did, he walked aimlessly beneath the leaden, cloudy skies. His feet barely feeling the rocky ground and dried out grasses brushing his legs. His stride carried him through the peaks and troughs of the undulating peak district landscape. Mists rolled and descended over the higher hills given them a cloudy ominous feel. Damp mosses hung with dew upon the manmade hillocks where a rabbit or two were looking on.

Branagh remembered better times as a lead miner. He had carried countless tons of rock and earth from the mines and built up some of these odd-shaped little tors.

It all changed when he became the mine supervisor. Sure, he was benevolent in charge. Showing charity, he increased every miner’s wages by threepence; that was a lot in those days. He gave longer breaks and ensured morale was high with a treat or two a month.

Continue reading at Mason’s Mind Menagerie