childhood things

by Maggie Scout

Many years have passed since those summer days
Among the fields of barley
See the children run as the sun goes down
Among the fields of gold
You’ll remember me when the west wind moves
Upon the fields of barley ~ Sting

Each stop saw the bus empty and in time there would only be Maggie, Jan and the driver left. They were the last stop and as usual the driver was in no hurry. This really was the most beautiful of places and Maggie was grateful for being in this place at this time. She never wanted to be anywhere else.

She had grown quieter throughout the journey, mulling over the numerous action lists and things that needed to be done, the letter that had arrived in the post that morning lying unopened on the kitchen table, the end of another summer that always left her a little sad.

Maggie leaned against the window and shut her eyes tightly to block out the external distractions and remembered one glorious lifetime ago summer.  Maggie and Jan.  Jan and Maggie.  Inseparable.

A summer of bright red shorts and red satin ribbon tangled in her blond curly hair; yellow cornfields and the wrath of a checked shirted farmer; jumping waves and chasing the wind; running as fast as they could along the beach; climbing and hiding and bumps and scrapes; riding bikes and swings and dizziness and giggles; standing on tiptoes and two  boys they would never see again. A memory of shiny dark to black hair, of golden skin not of these parts, of straight white teeth and a voice and accent that could only be described as posh. She’d never forgotten.  Smiling and eyelashes glistening.

One glorious summer in childhood; one treasured memory.

Maggie’s enjoyment of nostalgia was to be short lived as Jan interrupted, landing herself with a bump into the free space beside her. Multi-coloured shopping bags full to bursting, spread out and now resting on their knees. Jan’s excitement clearly reflected in the break-neck speed chitter-chatter. Maggie found it hard to keep up.  Oh for a little quiet. But it was not to be.

Let’s drop in to Golly Gosh for a quick cuppa … and I can show Sally my holiday things!

Maggie.  Forced to let go of the memory.