Perhaps it was growing up in inner-city Bradford. But the idea of country-living always appealed. When my late-wife and I chose to abandon the mania of London, we lit upon a village called Over Wallop. By name, straight out of PG Wodehouse. By nature, a place – like thousands of other English villages – where the soul of our nation resides. This weekend the war memorial at Over Wallop will be encircled by villagers for the annual Service of Remembrance. On the years I joined them, I was always awestruck by how such a small village could yield so many war dead. On the commemorative stone cross …
