We weren't a well-off family, so our summer treat was one day out in Southport, on the train, and one day at New Brighton, on the ferry from Liverpool, where we lived. I used to love having fish and chips, tea and bread and butter in the little cafe. A couple of rides on the fair, a play on the beach, and a stick of rock to bring home, if we could afford it. I still like a stick of seaside rock, but have to be careful of mi'teeth when I eat it now!
Until recently, the seaside used to come to me. Every autumn the Blackpool donkeys used to arrive at the farm by my house, to spend the winter being pampered by Mary, who owned the farm. When we saw the horsebox arriving we used to dash up the lane to see them unloading. The donkeys used to amble down the ramp, staring in amazement at the green fields. After so long in stables, or walking up and down Blackpool beach it was donkey heaven. Off they would all go, galloping round the field, lying down and kicking and rolling in the lovely freedom of the meadow, before settling down for a good feed of fresh grass.
Sadly, Mary died, and the new owners couldn't be bothered with the donkeys. I just hope that someone equally as kind is looking after them in a different green field.