THE HOLIDAY 

By Tessa Harvey

    Luke kept very still. He knew he was well-hidden, but he hadn't liked mum's newest boyfriend.
    They were on holiday in Devon or Cornwall.  He couldn't remember which, but had been mesmerized by the craggy steep cliffs and hidden tiny caves. But some were excitingly bigger. He had no idea why they had come from his grim suburb in Manchester, but mum said war was coming. That had really interested him. The summer of 1938 was glorious.
    The boyfriend had produced two ten-shilling notes and said "Hop it, kid!" So Luke, amazed had hopped it.
    The donkey rides were great, even though his legs were getting a bit long. No-one he knew was there to mock and jeer. The ten year old boy was having the most fun he had had in his short life-time. He had even spent some of his hoard of a whole pound - think of that! - and bought a red tin bucket and spade.
    The spade had a long wooden handle just the right size. Some boys about his age had called out to him to help. The sea was a sparkling blue, a far cry from the muddy river Mersey flowing blackly and creepily under the road near his flat.
    The sun blazed down and the water was warm at the edge. The boys were making a huge sandcastle and he vowed then he was never going back home.

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