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Summer in Wallasey.
Six long weeks.
Wallasey is a small town on the other side of the River Mersey from Liverpool, in Britain.
As part of it’s history, akin to ALL small towns in Britain, either Wednesday, or Thursday, all the shops are shut after midday.
In this case, it was Wednesday.
June…or was it July? I do not really remember.
It was school holidays, and all of my friends were away somewhere with their parents. Wales was the normal place. Scotland, in the 70’s was as “exotic” as India.
It was one of those HOT summer days. The shops were all closed, and the “Main road” was as quiet as a back country lane.
The town park was less than five minutes away. My Grandmother was having her afternoon doze.
I took the “long route”.
The “main street” was so hot it was dusty. Not a shop open, not a person moved. Just GLOWING hot sunshine. Even the birds made no sound.
The pavement was heavy under the feet.
An old “mansion”, which was now an art college. Dead to the world. Baking in the heat.
Around the “mansion” through the old stable block, the rose garden, the “blind garden”…NO one. Just me, the trees and plants, and the heat.
You could smell the grass, the trees, the soil. It was as a perfume. A very heavy perfume.
The town, and particularly the park, was as if no man was left on Earth.
A small duck pond surrounded by a fence. Made dark and cool by trees. One bench.
As a lane, a stone wall on one side.
I sat on the bench. On the pond were dragon flies floating lazily over the surface. In front of me, the “lane” with an old gas light. Not unlike “The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe”.
The quiet! Still not a soul moved. Why should they move? None were there!” The heat.
I made my way back along the “Main street”. The ONLY person I saw. Mr Tennant.
A shop keeper that had been there from before “the war”.
His shop was…..
That comes later..
What genre was this from? Or was it just a scene setter?
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