‘I like the cranes, they’ve got a kind look. You look out of your window and look up at the sky and there they are, all yellow and orange like some great big giraffe or something, moving about up there, and all the red and yellow clay down below and the grey huts and the men with their red helmets and the yellow patches on their coats and the broken bits of houses they’re knocking down over the other side … I tell you, it’s a real picture in a funny sort of way, specially on a fine morning. And at night, with the light shining out on the cranes up there in the sky, like angels’ wings, I say to myself – angels’ wings.’
Celia Dale, A Personal Call and Other Stories