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The End of the Holiday.

When we had arrived the fortnight spread ahead of us, endlessly.

We would play cricket on the beach, we’d swim in the sea. We’d visit the relatives in Norwich, we’d visit the eccentric aunt in Beccles, where we would play Winkle’s Wedding.

We’d play cricket on the beach and we’d swim in the sea.

We’d go to the show on the end of the pier – Morecambe and Wise, the Shads, Ken Dodd…remember Dad was nearly ill last year – he laughed so much.

Cricket on the beach, swimming on the sea.

And we’d have a boat ride on the Broads, and, as a special treat, a visit to the Pleasure Beach, my Dad’s arm reassuring on the roller coaster, my Mum young, pretty and excited as we went down the scary abyss into what seemed like a terrifying void.. And, best of all, the dodgems – we’d have 2 or 3 goes on the dodgems.

And we’d play cricket on the beach and swim in the sea…

But now we had reached the last evening of the last day.

We had climbed up from the beach, bringing with us all the gear we had kept in the beach hut – towels, bats, stumps, balls, wet swimming costumes, deck chairs, plastic cups…

The next day, there would be no cricket, no swimming.

We would pack up and go home…that would be the end.
We knew at the start it would come to an end, but it didn’t make the last evening any less hard.

The beach now empty, no children playing. The sea kept rolling in, but we wouldn’t swim in it tomorrow.

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