One of the best things about Saturday mornings when I was a boy was Mum sending me along to Goode's Bakery in Wallasey Village to buy hot meat and potato pies for our lunch.
We lived in one of the new houses on land reclaimed from the edge of a wide salt marsh, known as The Moss, which throughout the summer school holidays was my land of adventure and dreams. It was all a bit wild and free around our way, but the village had been there for centuries so closer in the houses and roads went from older, to old, to very old.
One day my sister went with me to collect the pies. I'd be about nine, I think, which would make her seven. The long stretch of Mosslands Drive before we hit Goode's was lined on both sides with staid pebbledashed 1930s semi-detached houses behind neat front gardens, and near the civilised end on the left was Gainsborough Road, where my sister's best friend Debbie lived. It was one of those D-shaped affairs with about a hundred houses, accessible by car from either end and via a straight footpath halfway along.
On the way home I nudged my sister into the footpath. "I want to show you something."
"The pies will get cold."
"Only take a minute." I stopped ten paces in and gestured to the quiet rows of houses on either side.
She looked. "What?"
"I built this place."
She gave me the one-eyed squint.
"Me and Phil." My best mate from school, who lived up the hill in Wallacre Road.
"You didn't."
"We did."
At least she gave the houses a cursery glance, but still dismissed my silliness."You can't build houses."
"I learned how from Grandad. And Phil's dad's an architect."
"Debbie lives just down there."
"In the real world. Not in this one."
A longer pause this time. Then a shrug. "Pies."
"Okay. Come on."
I was born for this job! :D
David Bridger settled with his family and their two monstrous dogs after twenty years of ocean-based fun, during which he worked as a lifeguard, a sailor, an intelligence gatherer and an investigator. Now he writes science fiction and fantasy novels. The Moss and Wallasey Village feature in Golden Triangle, Book 2 of his Wild Times urban fantasy series.
David, I understand completely. I lived in another world most of the time growing up. It was so much more interesting than the one I was in :)
ReplyDeleteDefinitely the best way to grow up, Natasha. :)
DeleteI grew up in farm country and used to take long walks in the woods by myself. Boy, those woods were a lot of different places for me.
ReplyDeleteAnd you were born for this.
Thank you, Charlotte.
DeleteAnd so were you.
Sounds like you had an ideal place for your imagination to expand when you were young! Very cool, I could really visualize the scene. HUGS!
ReplyDeleteThanks, Veronica. Yes, it was a wonderful place to grow up. Hugs to you, too!
DeleteYou definitely were born for this job, David!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Jana! As were you. :)
DeleteGrowing up, I saw mermaids in the school pool, dryads in the trees, and some less savory types downtown (but then, I lived in Reno -- they might not all have been imaginary). Love this story, David!
ReplyDeleteThank you, Erin! I'm sure the things we see as children aren't all imaginary.
DeleteThis is a wonderful story! I think that's what we all do as authors; escape, one step at a time, away from the real world. I've walked through stands of trees and imagined it as a fae world, even as an adult.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Zette! I still do that as an adult too.
DeleteWhat a cool and relatable story--I can see it! How many times have I conjured entire epics by the scraping of a couple branches at night? Fantasy writers, or more specifically, Urban Fantasy writers, are a different breed, no? You were indeed born for this, David! Thanks for sharing.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Steve. We certainly are, and you were born for it too!
DeleteNicely surreal and very appropriate to your writing style.
ReplyDeleteWhich you know so well because you've been there all along helping me to shape it. Thanks, Margaret. :)
DeleteWhat a great story! It's sad so many people can't see the magic in the world. I'm glad you found it, and shared this memory with us.
ReplyDeleteThanks, Deb! You see the magic too. :)
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