This story really captivated me and filled me with the spirit of Christmas. So much so that I really feel I must share it so that others can also experience its wonder.
Extraordinary things happen in ordinary places.
If you take the B2402 out of Maplecroft on the old Dover road and follow it for nearly a mile you’ll see a battered sign. ‘Hoskins’ it says, still readable through the rust and stippling from some rogue shotgun pellets. If you turn onto the track, avoiding the biggest potholes and drive another mile, you leave the stony fields and scrubby trees behind to reach a set of old Nissen huts. You may wonder, on arrival if there’s anyone here but look carefully before you shrug and leave.
There are always a few cars, parked in the field to the right and, these days, a smoker or two hanging around the largest hut, puffing anxiously while they await their moment with Arnold Hoskins.
Few know Arnold but those who do recognise a genius. Some call him magician. Arnold has many social limitations: he barely…
View original post 79 more words