The chiselled crevasses that outlined her weather-beaten face told the story of a life lived with hardship and the clothes she wore belonged to a different era. Her only expression of uniqueness was a well-worn stylish Easter hat that sat proudly on her head.
Ninety-four summers had come and gone since she first stood on these cobbled stones as a frightened young child. She recalled, how, back all those years ago, the vibrant sounds of the Milk Market had un-nerved her so. With solemn clarity she remembers the crowded presence of puffing horses effortlessly drawing carts that were laden down with goods and people of all shapes and sizes scurrying around busily on their only form of transport, a bicycle.
In truth, she preferred those sounds much more that the roars and splutter of the new-fangled motorcars that these days, polluted every lane and street. In the intervening years, she had willingly rolled the dice in the game of life. She has laughed and she has cried. Experienced love and suffered great loss. She had succeeded and she had failed, but more important than all of that, she has persevered.