Up until 8 years ago I had lived in Burry Port in West Wales all my life.
When younger I would look for messages in bottles and chase imaginary pirates across the beach.
It was (and still is) a wonderful place to grow up.
I have heard Burry Port being called dull. Boring. It is untrue, those who call it dull and boring do not look hard enough for the beauty, and it stares them in the face each day.
This is a short story based in the town. Excuse my having taken the liberty of changing its name. From here on Burry Port will be known as Tref Y Ceiliog. (Pembrey has become Penglas. Pwll is Cwmllais.)
I do not know if this fictional name exists except to say that it was the most fitting name my mind stumbled on.
Also I would like to say that were it not for Barnet Philips, my uncle, this story would have been harder to write as it was through listening to his brilliant stories that the idea was concieved. I thank him dearly.
I have now moved away from this sweet little town but the memories and scenery stay with me always.
Steven,
January 5th, 1998
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