Mornington: what an inspired placename.
Boarding the sweet oil-smelling GNR bus with our mother in Drogheda’s Bull Ring in the 1940s, we bumped along that three-mile journey to our very own shimmering wonderland, there to hop delightedly barefoot on sand and shells, build castles of the imagination, paddle and bathe at the water’s edge, jump down the sandhills, and then picnic on gritty sandwiches of egg and tomato.
Happily returning home, we slept the sleep of the blessed.
As the familiar images of Mornington’s lighthouse and tower and dunes flashed up on the TV screen a week or so ago, they bespoke a lost world.
32 Marley Ave