Images From The Past

Planks separated our world from the rest of humanity. Their worn edges were round and glazed with use. They were nine inches wide, barely three inches thick and black with age; not just a dull remote black, but a shiny, slippery ‘alive’ black. Alone, without handrail and only a centre support, they spanned the dyke outside our house.

Nearly 20 feet wide that dyke split the land like a pewter sword. Torrents of winter melt-water from inland heights raged between its high sturdy sides. Into the South 40-foot it writhed, and onward across the levels it exploded against the spring advances of the North Sea surge.

The skies then were endless, and beneath the pitiless blue-white dome our land stretched flat and naked. Winter winds had ravaged; dreaded north-easterlies ripped across the sea and turned acres of sullen saltflat into a frozen waste; now a pallid sun again caressed the land

The planks creaked and steamed gently as winter’s iron-cold grip eased gradually from their heart.

In the vastness of our fenlands life began once more.