Saturday Mornings
A Memory of Chatburn.
My grandad kept racing pigeons, his loft was at the top of the old road looking down into the village centre. Ever Saturday morning during the racing season he would send me up to the Brown Cow (public house) to check when the birds had been released and which way the wind was blowing. It would say something like, let 09.30 / wind SW. I would have to remember this all the way back to tell my grandad. We would then sit and wait for the first sign of his birds. I was nine years old at the time
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