Nice Doggy

Alice Bell

One summer long ago when our children were very small, we went on a family holiday to a small town, through that's too big a word for a delightful little haven with its red pan tiled roofs, whitewashed cottages with royal blue paint on the doors and round the window and, best of all, and the thing now as adults our children still remember, the 'dancing ladies' as they called the flowers of the fuchsia bushes. Summer is a broad term in Scotland. It covers rain, gales, sea haar, midges and berry bugs and, as a treat on rare occasions, a heat wave. In those childhood days it always seemed to be sunny.

On this special day our four children, two girls and two boys, ranged in age between eight and three and so as we walked with out little troupe along towards the beach people would say, 'have you any more at home?' We spent the morning with buckets and spades on the sand while we sang along with the choruses of the seaside mission and the wheesebox tunes on the portable mini organ. We built sandcastles and paddled and suffered having our feet buried in the sand. ... (continues)