I am currently on a train, speeding south through Northumberland. If you have never been there then I recommend it. The coast is stunning, the beaches streching as far as the eye can see, with golden, beautiful sand. It has castles that loom over villages that hark back to feudal times. Inland, the Cheviot hills mark the barrier between England and Scotland, atop which the views strech seemingly for ever.
When the children were younger we had many happy family holidays here. Seeing familar places from the train brought it all back - three blond heads digging or swimming. My favourite picture from this time is sitting on a ledge outside of a holiday cottage, just a stones throw from the beach. On my lap, my son, then just two, both of us tanned. It's the end of a sun kissed fortnight and, together we survey the setting, golden, sun. We seem close - something that has always seemed to be the case with all of them. An idyllic and treasured memory.
All of that was years ago. The blonde heads have darkened, the children turned into adults. But the beaches are still here and they call still. It's a special place.
When the children were younger we had many happy family holidays here. Seeing familar places from the train brought it all back - three blond heads digging or swimming. My favourite picture from this time is sitting on a ledge outside of a holiday cottage, just a stones throw from the beach. On my lap, my son, then just two, both of us tanned. It's the end of a sun kissed fortnight and, together we survey the setting, golden, sun. We seem close - something that has always seemed to be the case with all of them. An idyllic and treasured memory.
All of that was years ago. The blonde heads have darkened, the children turned into adults. But the beaches are still here and they call still. It's a special place.
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