The Ephemera
“I don't believe in them. In my youth I saw too much fakery where the spirit world was concerned to have any doubts. Even if I choose the supernatural explanation of what we saw that last time, and take as more than coincidence what followed, I still require further evidence. And no matter how hard I have prayed for it over the years since, it has never come.Séances, in those days, were the talk of the steamie, and Glasgow had a level of spiritualist activity approaching a small industry. It had... been three years since the end of the Great War, and the nexts of kin were still groping around in a sort of muddled communal grief for a clue, a hint, an inkling to the whereabouts of all those husbands and fathers and sons who had disappeared in the muddy fields of Europe, turning to whatever means they could find to provide them with something approaching closure. The ones who came back were little use, cold and iron-faced men who preferred to batter their frustrations like bullets into the rivet holes of the great ships or scribble their memories on plate steel in hot, unreadable welds.MoreLess
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