Sea Harvest
Merry Xmas to you all. Here is another article from the pen of my brother, Peter. The smell of fried bacon still, lingered as we set off to collect Richard. Mum always insisted we start the day on a good breakfast. We walked through the garden and over the bottom stile grabbing a handful of peapods as we passed the rows. Away on the distant hillside a plume of smoke followed the tank engine pulling its few carriages up to the cliff top station. As we approached the top of the bank we heard the clatter of Len’s horse and cart before it came into view. Len looked as he always did, covered in black dust, as a coalman should look. The red pantiled roofs of the cottages were spread below us like a garish scarf. Seagulls sat on chimney pots squawking the news at each other and contemplating the likelihood of tasty fish morsels when the fishing boats returned. We ran down the bank past the fish shop and up a narrow cobbled...