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359 days ago
It would have been impossible for anyone to escape from there alive. For 42 years my father was a brakesman on the old Southern Railway. He was proud of his record. In all that time he was involved in only one derailment. But that derailment changed his life forever. This is how he first told me the story, which I’ve since heard many times. It was a cold November evening in 1981 when Dad left our house and travelled 30 miles to the railway yard. He parted his truck by the diesel shop, where he met up with the engineer, the flagman and the conductor. Their four engines sat idling, having already been switched together, refuelled and supplied by the shop’s crew. The men climbed aboard and drove down the terminal track past the station where they coupled with 114 freight carriages. While the carriage inspector checked the brakes, my father went to the second engine. He settled into his swivel chair by the window. From there, riding ...367 days ago
When I look back on how I came to America from Cuba, I can’t help but feel my steps were guided. Each piece of the journey has clicked into place as if part of a design, a larger plan. Still, some might be tempted to call this blind luck. Not I. My homeland of Cuba is a beautiful island. By far the best thing about my country is its people. It took all of my will to decide to leave the land and the people I love, especially my family. Many times it seemed easier simply to remain in Cuba and hope that someday things would change, that the people would be given freedom to believe and say what they wish. I grew up barely aware of who or what God is. He seemed as far away as the America I sometimes dreamed about, as remote as freedom itself. Then my friend Rebecca revealed something to me that changed my life … the first step of my journey. My goal was to study medicine but I would have to pass a very tough university entrance exam. In the library with Rebecca one day, I was ...707 days ago
Words are very powerful when used with love My favourite love story is also a true one. Soon after he was married, Thomas Moore, the famous nineteenth century Irish poet, was called away on a business trip. Upon his return he was met at the door not by his beautiful bride, but by the family doctor. ‘Your wife is upstairs,’ said the doctor. ‘But she has asked that you do not come up.’ And then Moore learned the terrible truth: his wife had contracted smallpox. The disease had left her once flawless skin pocked and scarred. She had taken one look at her reflection in the mirror and commanded that the shutters be drawn and that her husband never see her again. Moore would not listen. He ran upstairs and threw open the door of his wife’s room. It was black as night inside. Not a sound came from the darkness. Groping along the wall, Moore felt for the gas jets. A startled cry came form a black corner of the room. ‘No! Don’t light the lamps!’ Moore hesitated, swayed ...721 days ago
This singer discovered a new song Most entertainers spend thousands of hours on the road. It’s part of the job. The likelihood of accidents is a possibility that we live with on a daily basis. For me, that possibility became a reality one day in the mountains of Colorado. I have been a singer nearly all my life. I entered my first talent show when I was five years old. Music was the rock that saw me through hard times and good times. I wish I could say church was as important to me, but it wasn’t. I was raised in St Louis, in a strictly religious home, with emphasis on the strict. It seemed to me that nobody ever talked about loving God, just about following the rules. As I got older and my rebellion became more noticeable, the list of things I couldn’t do got longer. One night Mum insisted I make a choice: I could live my life right or plan on going to hell. At the time, my own desires seemed more real to me than hell did. I moved out and quit ...726 days ago
A broken relationship is wonderfully restored. This is the story of a woman’s love for her husband. Whether he deserved that love - and why he acted the way he did - are questions I can’t answer. I’m not going to write about Karl Taylor; this story is about his wife. The story begins early in 1950 in the Taylors’ small flat. Edith Taylor was sure that she was the ‘Happiest woman alive’. She and Karl had been married twenty-three years, and her heart still skipped a beat when he walked into the room. As for Karl, he gave every appearance of a man in love with his wife. Indeed, he seemed almost dependent on her, as if he didn’t want to be gone too long away from her. If his job as a government warehouse worker took him out of town he’d write Edith a long letter every night and drop her postcards several times during the day. He sent small gifts from every place he visited. Often at night they’d sit up late in their flat and talk about the house they’d own someday, ...
