Richard Veesy My Regency Hero
o you ever find an ancestor, usually one you’re fond of, suddenly popping into your mind for no good reason that you can explain. I do, often. One morning this week, I was in a boringly recurrent dream where I’m wandering about some blasted heath like mad old King Lear, when out of the blue, Richard Veasey, my three times great-grandfather strolled into view. I can’t exactly claim to have seen him face to face,
