I don’t seem to have had a good dream in ages but as my brain regained consciousness from today’s stupor and my eyes slowly flickered open to daylight little pieces of my dream fell back into place and I gradually woke up with a smile.
I had been back into my past, to the town by the sea where grew up, and to a time when my three girls were small.
I was in a newsagents by the train station, one I had been in many times before so I can remember it clearly. The small station carpark was surrounded on three sides, by the station itself on the one side, by an estate agent and offices with big windows to the left, and by the newsagents and a taxi office to the right.
I was there with my three girls, I would easily guess none of them had reached secondary school age, we had met Little Sister and her three children, two girls and a boy. This would have been a pretty regular occurrence as we often met up somewhere and shared the day before we went our separate ways to take six tired children home to bed.
A dream wouldn’t be normal if there wasn’t a little poetic licence in place and on this particular day I’m guessing it was lunchtime as the counter in the newsagents was doubling up as a chipshop and what’s more, pie and a small portion of chips were on sale for just £1.
Pie and chips all round for lunch it was then. A rare treat in those days. The girl’s, all five of them waited outside, sitting on the low wall of the station, their backs leaning against the high railings which kept them out harms way from the trains on the platform behind, and Little Sister’s youngest, the boy, who I remember always needed a little more supervision, waited in the queue inside with us for his lunch.
As the shopkeeper was wrapping our Lunches into bundles of white paper, Big Sister arrived and ordered a large fish and chips for her lunch too.
My dream didn’t go much further, we left the shop with my arms piled high of salt and vinegar smelling parcels and the children gathered around making lots of happy children noises.
There’s a church not far away from the station, it’s surrounded by grass and trees, and paths we used to walk through often. The dream didn’t carry on, but I’m guessing that if it had we’d have been found eating our picnic lunch on the grass in the dappled sunshine under the trees.
I don’t have any pictures of the train station or the newsagents, so here’s a picture of my favourite chipshop visited in Weymouth last weekend, I’m pretty sure the memory of the “Seagull Café ” prompted the changes to the newsagents counter in my dream.