WALK TO RYE HARBOUR
We were on holiday in Winchelsea staying in a converted railway carriage. The weather was doubtful as it always is in August even through rose coloured spectacles.
This particular afternoon it was overcast and spitting with rain.
“I know” said mother, “we’ll walk to Rye harbour”.
My brother groaned. Another of mother’s ideas. It started to rain and got heavier and heavier. The rain was cold down my neck.
“Oh come on” said mother “It’ll stop soon”.
It didn’t, we got wetter and wetter. We three, Dad, brother and me plodded along in three miserable bundles. Mother strode purposefully.
“Look at the sea”, she said, “it looks purple”.
Even a sea of leaf green with pink spots would not have excited me that afternoon.
“I’m soaked”, said my brother.
“Stop moaning, we’ll be there soon”.
“How are we going to get back to the carriage? We can’t get on a bus as wet as this”.
How did we get back? 70yrs later I can’t remember!
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