I can remember, when I was a child, that I lived in a village called 'Thornton-le-Fylde' ....... Where trees stretched from Cleveleys right down to Burn Naze, and our playgrounds were meadows, on long summer days. Faces and places from faraway years, return with the memories of laughter and tears ...... The gala processions with horses and carts, flower-bedecked children, with joy in their hearts. Those were the days when sorrows were shared, with neighbours and friends who showed that they cared, although times were hard and our pennies were few, our childhood was rich, with the pals that we knew. And watching the scenes, like a sentry on guard, the old Thornton windmill stood proud in its yard .... Witnessing times that were gentle and mild, when 'calmness' prevailed, in our Thornton-le-Fylde. Now I am older, but still, just the same, my pride stays as strong as when life was a game, knowing that others will also recall, those happy young years, when love sheltered us all; -- And we are the ones who, above all the rest, were given a childhood so joyously blessed. Written for the love of it, by Dorothy |