We thought the old lighthouse was going to fall into the sea. About seventy, seventy one? The sea was halfway up the rocks. “We don’t get many,” said Aunt Annie, “There was a big one about ten years ago. “My dad hates storms,” I said as I finished wrapping the threadbare elastic band around the window latch, “him and mum always used to hide in the back room at home.” Uncle Tom says it’s blowing up for a storm.” I’ve never heard the sea like this for a long time. It’s been sunny and lovely here every day until today. “Everything all right,” she asked, “I heard a crash?” I put down the book and was just trying to secure the window with an elastic band in my pocket, when Aunt Annie’s face peered around the door. The window suddenly came off its latch, and banged down hard against the frame. Follow the site of the battlefield around to the tar pits and continue for…’ ‘Turn left just behind the telephone box,’ the book said, ‘and continue four miles up to the scar facing Raglan crag. The sky had darkened as if a summer storm was coming, and I struggled to see my book. Wishing I’d brought one of my football magazines from home, I began to leaf through a book entitled “Fell walking on the south coast – the lonely man’s guide.” I could hear the noise of the ocean through the window as it battered the rocks angrily. I sat on the bed and began to read one of the books that were on a small shelf. After a lunchtime snack with my aunt and Uncle, I went up the winding stairwell into the box room that would be my home for the summer. It was a wild day, and we ducked inside quickly, the noise of the angry ocean swell battering on the rocks. My Uncle ducked as he passed under the tiny doorframe, its wood being eaten away by the constant winds from the sea. It was a sea cottage, nestled on the cliff side with the ocean and the rocks below. We walked inside my aunt and uncles cottage. I was eleven, and pretty much the star of Ancoats United Juniors FC. I didn’t think I was ‘young’, as my Uncle had put it. Written by: The Birch plenty to do on the south coast for a young lad,” said my uncle, a paternal hand resting on my shoulder as we waved my dad goodbye,” he won’t get into trouble here.”
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