Patrick Leigh Fermour tells the story of his last few hours spent with his Romanian lover Angela.
They had been touring the Carpathian roads and stopping at old Saxon inns, admiring ancient churches. When all too soon they had to get Angela back on to the Budapest train.
Their friend and the driver of the old Bugatti was Count Istvan. and he had stopped and fixed a puncture when they all heard the whistle of the engine.
They shot through fields of Maize and Tobacco, clouds of dust billowing behind. As they ripped along a field of Sunflowers, They levelled with the train, the passengers staring wide eyed at them. Then, grinning like a cinder eyed demon Istvan pulled ahead....
They made it well ahead of the train.
Angela leaned out of the train window and threaded crimson button holes into their shirts. She kissed Paddy goodbye, and years later he could still feel the dust on her smooth cheek.
Its a true story, and one of the best books I have ever read.
Hence; Dustycheeks.
They had been touring the Carpathian roads and stopping at old Saxon inns, admiring ancient churches. When all too soon they had to get Angela back on to the Budapest train.
Their friend and the driver of the old Bugatti was Count Istvan. and he had stopped and fixed a puncture when they all heard the whistle of the engine.
They shot through fields of Maize and Tobacco, clouds of dust billowing behind. As they ripped along a field of Sunflowers, They levelled with the train, the passengers staring wide eyed at them. Then, grinning like a cinder eyed demon Istvan pulled ahead....
They made it well ahead of the train.
Angela leaned out of the train window and threaded crimson button holes into their shirts. She kissed Paddy goodbye, and years later he could still feel the dust on her smooth cheek.
Its a true story, and one of the best books I have ever read.
Hence; Dustycheeks.
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