Secret

At a young age, about 7 or 8, I used to see this area in the school playground as a 'secret' place. An area which was unkempt and overgrown, the trees and foliage creating a tunnel, but in the centre was an opening. I remember in the spring it had an odd smell of garlic and that went on into the summer. The small area of dirt was full of pottery and each day we went down and pretended to be archaeologists, digging up as much as we could and making up scenarios for each piece we found. I left school each day with heavy pockets, each one filled with a mixture of dirt and pottery. People were welcome to our secret place, but not many seemed bothered to investigate into this area of ours.

As I grew, we stopped playing here and we all soon went our separate ways, other schools and paths. I imagine that this place has stayed the same, with tonnes of pottery still left in the dirt. Thinking about it I remember the happy times I once had there.

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Story from Eleanor Spence, re-written by myself