The moment I read these words, it felt like I was home once more, and the memories of all that I felt, reading this dearly loved novel over 30 years ago came flooding back. Crump Folk Going Home was the only work I have ever read of Constance Holme, a legacy passed down from my grandfather but it carved such a place in my heart that a part of me always felt incomplete when I lost the book several years later. For years, I tried to find a replacement copy but failed, so I cannot begin to describe what it meant when I finally held a copy in my hand once more and the prose I remembered so vividly and missed so dearly transported me back to the world of the Lyndesays with Crump the cornerstone of it all. There is a plaintiveness in the fabric of the tale, reticence, recklessness and restraint coalescing into a breathtaking narrative with characters that are remote yet strangely relatable - subtle yet devastatingly laid bare. It is a tale of loss and restoration, purpose and belonging, of being able to go home, and I love it now perhaps even more than when I first loved it as an impressionable young girl, with the lens that come with age and experience.