Brooside

A Memory of Shalfleet.

I remember when my dad brought a run down derelict building across the road from the New Inn. As a child, a building site was a wonderful play ground. He restored it with oak beams and York stone floors, I only wish we still owned it, the tranquility of Shalfleet seems so desirable now compared to London, ahh, feet up in front of a large open log fire, or just to sit in that peaceful garden watching the fruit swell and ripen and as autumn approached, the bubbling brook that supported generations of water fowl and freshwater eels, a different world, a different lifetime.

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