The value of kisses By Thomas Hocknell I find the pavilion easily enough, not that much has changed. The chalets are now further from the beach moved by the tides over the years. Not having returned for over forty years I notice more changes than most. The saplings of my childhood are now grown, but the lazy afternoon sun striking their upper branches and my hands feels comfortably the same. The smell of the sea is unchanged, along with the sounds of families digging sand forts in preparation to be gleefully beaten by the evening high tide, though not without a fight, just as we once did. I recall my sister and I met a group of temporary friends, all digging with junior red spades bought at the beach shop. My father gamely pitched in with a garden spade. We would be eventually surrounded and peering over the walls like Chads. Toe-steps were cut into either side of the wall so we could run for a quick tea at our respective chalets, and re-garrison without damaging the defences in time for the tide's arrival.
