IS it the salt? The reason that seaside memories are so perfectly kept? My very first memories are absolutely brine-preserved. I was a toddler sent to stay with my Great Uncle Willi and Great Aunt Kath, who were sheep farmers on the Gower, Wales, their land sloping down to the sea. Although I realise that the following infant incidents have become recall-polished in the way broken glass is smoothed by sea tide on the sea shore, the grit in them is true…
Standing looking at the cresting waves, thinking that the surf looked like lamb’s fleece. (Too sophisticated a simile for a three-year-old; perhaps an image
