The Female Hun was a wild and melodramatic affair.
In afternoon went for a good tramp with a hut-fellow, visiting the picturesque village of Figeldean, where the “Village Smithy” stands under its spreading chestnut tree, and across the road the little stone church, where the brawny smith heard his daughter’s voice. I sharpened my jack-knife on the smith’s grindstone. The smithy door is covered with the names of visitors. The tree in its winter nudity looks very old.
[Image: Postcard of Smithy at Figheldean, Salisbury Plain. Sourced from ‘Living Histories’, University of New Castle, Australia.]