picture a pretty little English village, before the age of anything industrial, where doves fly letters between people, you’d wait till the Saturday market to by your produce for the week and if not had to buy it from the small stalls set up in the centre just before the monolithic church surrounded by beautiful grounds, rose bushes and carnations.

A tight knit community, everybody knows everybody. Everybody is on a set path, follow in the occupation of your parents, find a lover, marry, have children, the cycle repeats. Purpose, it gives us purpose and everybody is quite content in it.

You are seventeen, you’ve had little schooling as girls don’t go to school but your father is a higher up in the towns hierarchy and has the means to pay for a tutor for you, you can write and read which is more than some men can, you can also play penny whistle and accordion you have a fascination for music. At the tavern in the village on Friday evenings there’s always music, people would get on the makeshift stage with a guitar or accordion, flute you name it and play a tune, you loved it. And that’s where you met Robbie. Well that’s where you really noticed him.

Robbie has that same passion for music and entertaining, he can play guitar which is very respectable as it’s harder to play than most instruments, he can knock the most beautiful tune out, and he sings like an angel… you’re in love… but you are far to shy to say something to him. In the week Robbie is a blacksmith, his workshop is only a few doors down from your own where you help your mum with seamstressing. You can sew anything, no item of clothing is beyond repair from you.

Being seventeen now it’s expected of you to get married soon… that’s how it is… but all the suitors your dad has pushed on you you have waved away, too boring, too uptight, too loud… you’re probably being dramatic… or maybe something in your head is telling you that your person is waiting just a few doors down…