ROCK-SOLID BOGGARTS IN A RING

came to live at Foster Clough, on the edge of Midgley Moor, in September 1970. I’d visited the area a few times, and I had gained a rough idea of local topography. I’d come to join a loose semi-commune of young people aiming to co-operate in the renovation of the half-derelict cottages. We were idealistic in various ways. Those were the days of the great Mental Hospitals. We felt we ought to be able to keep people with mental problems out of The Asylum. A friend, Ben, had moved into a farmhouse over near Wainstalls, and was looking after his brother, Barry, who was in a bad mental way: paranoid schizophrenia might describe it. Ben felt he couldn’t cope, and I agreed to see if I could do any better, and took Barry in. I was failing. Barry’s madness was driving me up the wall. His being out of communication