It has been raining for much of the day; therefore I thought I wouldn’t be able go out for the cycle ride I had promised myself, not until five-thirty this afternoon. It was late to set out, and I knew I would lose the light before my return, but I felt the need to go out on my own and say my private good-bye to Wynnum, the old-fashioned town by the sea, where I spent four of the happiest years of my childhood. Henry’s house, where I am staying at present, (Henry is one of my younger brothers if you are a newcomer to my blog) is close to the centre of town and only a mile from the seafront, so it wasn’t a long ride, just enough to feel the wind in my hair and feel the benefit of being out under my own steam.

I rode down, over the railway lines, past the shopping centre and down to the sea. The sky was pink with the setting of the sun and it reflected on the water in the wading pool, the same wading pool where, as a tot, I was stung by jelly fish; and later, where Henry saved a small boy’s life. There were few people around; the playground was empty, unlike yesterday when we met up with friends and their brood. The youngest tot loved the swings best. I loved to see the faces of the little children in their sandy adventure playground, and I loved it that some of them talked to me and showed off their skills on huge climbing frames, shaking planks and enormous slippery-slides (if you happen to be three feet tall or less). Of course, to experience this you have to walk on the sand yourself… and pop your own head into the hole in the wall so that your face is the face of the fish on the other side…

The light was going – Henry and Diane would worry about me cycling in the dark – and I moved on. Using the cycle-path, I rode almost to Darling Point at the end of the seafront, and I looked up in the direction of Mountjoy Terrace – there wasn’t time to go and see our old house. Instead, I headed back up to Bay Terrace, and the shops, then down Florence Street, past our old primary school – it isn’t a school any more. I remembered how, after assembly we used to march, to the sound of brass band music, from the parade ground into our classrooms. I felt a bit sad, but at least the school had not been torn down (thanks to an outcry from former students who fought against the developers).

It was dark as I turned into Foch Street. Henry and Diane were beginning to worry as I appeared at the top of the stairs.

I will have to get up early and go back again in the morning, just one last time… for now.