Introduction

I sit in my garden now looking at the roses, it’s a lovely evening isn’t it? These are proper roses. Before I left Sarajevo, there were lots of ‘roses’ down our road, what was left of it. That’s what I have now – memories of those roses and real ones growing in my new garden. New roses. That’s what I try to hang on to these days. But the old ones will always be there – in my mind – even if they are trying to pour fresh concrete all over them.