As I said, old as Janus was, I’m sure his view wouldn't have extended to prehistory. Or, come to think of it, to us here now. My poem for this month looks back that far, way past Janus, into a boggy place here in Devon. A quarryman working in Kingsteignton in 1867 found a little wooden figure which could be held in his hand. Preserved by the clay, this model man is some 2,400 years old. His body may be attenuated and armless, but somehow he exerts an extraordinary power. The eroded face, carved in the late Iron Age, confronts us – you, me – one face facing another. Was he a religious idol, a gift to the gods or just a doll, the archaeologists ask? We can't answer that question. And, if I may say so, perhaps it doesn’t really matter. He is what he is – like us. What we do know is that one's encounter with him remains etched deeper in the memory after a visit to the Royal Albert Memorial Museum than many another far more beautiful, grande...