There are many excellent examples of English violins and cellos built during the war, however, some makers were forced to be inventive with local woods as quality maple and ebony were in short supply.
A nine-year-old boy named Tyson, who was moving with his family to an old house, away from civilization. The boy had friends to worry about, but he would never see them again. - Why couldn't we stay at home? They miss us! - Tyson said, - Your father got us a better life, you can't complain! - answered Martha, Tyson's mother. An overwhelming silence invaded the vehicle as they arrived at their new home.
Cynthia sighed, for the tenth time that minute, as she watched her husband comb the beach. His lanky limbs looked even more disproportionate, exposed as they were by the lone pair of shorts he’d donned.
The quiet and the darkness surround me. I’m sure someone, somewhere, existing in a neat cubical, processing souls into faceless numbers, Their biggest fear being an overspend on wages, a dressing down from a suit who isn’t even aware of my existence. Are They even aware of what those pennies are achieving? Are They counting the cost against each soul taken, stolen, burnt?