I had never heard the term Mudlark, but I was one. I poked along the foreshore of the abandoned shipyard: bolts, a bronze twist, a makers plate off an old boiler. The prize? A small ship’s bell. The bronze made a fine clapper.
What a sweet sound to hear along the shore.

One Reply to “Foreshore”

  1. What a gorgeous little narrative, Lou. You packed so much information into this compact story, making use of each word beautifully well. I love the last line:

    “What a sweet sound to hear along the shore.”

    Well done!

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