– For the next generation it’s important to know who came before you.

I found myself residing at No. 7 Hare Lane.

A peculiar house that holds a peculiar part in my family’s history.

My Father told me many stories of the occupants who once occupied this home.

Some funny and yet some sad.

Although he always said that this was a vital part to life.

The time of my arrival was met with the beginning of nightfall and a slight drizzle of rain.

The journey has been long and the day ahead was filled with a schedule of immense stress.

I was here on my own personal mission.

I found myself at a stage in my life where I wanted to find out who I was.

What it means to be a Lannon.

The black cab pulled up alongside No. 7.

I paid the cabbie his fare, jumped out into the rain and ran inside.

Dropping my personals down on the kitchen floor I looked around.

The house was immaculate.

Pristine in condition and cleanliness.

The kitchen was small but convenient whilst China plates filled the cupboards.

The time called for a cup of tea (recommended with honey) and a productive flick through the latest issue of ‘family friend’s’.

The pictures of exotic garden wildlife were compelling though I found myself beginning to yawn so I began the moral attempt to get to bed.

I picked up my personals from the kitchen and walked down a stretched hallway.

On the wall which ran alongside were small indents.

Nail markings.

Presumably where pictures once hanged.

The execution of climbing the staircase was in fact harder than expected.

At the top I was presented a corridor with four rooms.

Two on the left and two on the right.

Simple.

Perfectly placed in the middle of the corridor was a mirror.

I could not help but think to myself how many people this mirror reflected upon.

The changes it must have seen.

I entered the first room on the right.

Dropped my personals on the floor and sat on the end of a single bed.

The room was aesthetically bare.

Although it did not feel like it.

I started to untie my shoelaces until I found myself fixated upon a cupboard that took up the entire space of a wall.

I threw my shoes to one side, although in all honesty, I felt bad for throwing them so I shuffled the shoes neatly together and placed them by the bed.

I approached the cupboard and opened it slowly.

There was a long rail head height with nothing hanged on to it.

There was nothing at all.

Just an empty cupboard.

I went to pull the cupboard door shut until my eyes laid their attention on a number of faint markings on the wall.

As I examined closer they were not markings but faint scribbles.

I rushed downstairs and grabbed a kitchen knife from the cutlery drawer and scratched away at the wall’s surface.

The wallpaper peeled off.

Revealing one by one a list of names and dates.

My father’s being one of them.

‘Billy Lannon was ere 2005’.

I continued to peel away the wallpaper until one name attracted my attention more than any other.

Lynda Lannon.

Below her name was a quote and it read.

‘I am that bird in the sky’.

I pressed my fingers on her writing and I was propelled into a vision.

I imagined myself walking along a sandy white beach close to the glistening shore.

Nothing but sand and sea and a constant white terrain of cliff running alongside.

I walked and walked and walked for miles on end.

Until I came across a figure.

I felt myself being drawn to it.

I walked closer and discovered that ‘it’ was in actual fact a lady, who was sat down on a wooden bench looking out to sea.

Perked up against the bench was a bicycle.

I drew closer.

With each step I grew in confidence.

My back was straight.

She appeared to be knitting.

I didn’t want to intrude.

She looked up at me.

“Rest your legs. Here come have a seat next to me”.

She moved over slightly and I perched myself beside her.

“Where am I? Who are…”

“…No time for questions dear. The world is full of questions. The only question needed to be answered right now is would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, I would like that very much”.

“Honey?” She questioned.

“Always” I replied.

“That’s the right answer!”

She reached into her knitting basket and pulled out two saucers and cups and placed them on her lap.

She reached in again and gathered together a freshly brewed pot of tea, a bottle of milk, a jar of honey, an assortment of pink wathers and a slice of sponge cake.

“There’s never enough!” she exclaimed as she composed my cup of tea.

She placed the slice of sponge on a China plate with one pink wather and a slice of sponge.

“That will do for now” she said.

We sipped.

Magical.

I took a bite out of the Victoria.

“This cake is delightful”

“I tell you this now, the day I bake a cake the next it is gone”.

She giggled.

She seemed admirable in her ability to cook.

We sat together for the remainder of a golden evening of what seemed like an eternity, admiring the view of the ocean.

We did not converse in much conversation.

We only listened to the sound of nature.

The gulls crying above the cliffs.

The waves crashing against the shore.

The wind harmously exiting to the south.

It was heaven.

“Are you finished?” She questioned.

“Yes, I am. Thank you that was…”

“…I know your thankful. Sometimes we don’t have to say things we just have to look and by the looks of things you seem gracious to me”.

She placed the China plates, saucers and cups back into her basket of wonders.

She went back to her knitting.

“Where shall I go now?” I asked.

She replied with great enthusiasm.

“Go anywhere you please. Though this place is not for you. It’s a place for me. A place where I come to see those who seek answers. Those who want to know I am okay. I must say dear boy, I am perfectly okay”.

The sun began to fade over the horizon.

This place seemed as though time was in her control.

“I must be heading off” she said.

She packed her belongings into her knitting basket and strapped it on to the back of her bicycle.

“Will I see you again?”

“Most definitely” she said with a faint smile.

She rode off with the wind to the east.

I brushed myself down and jumped up from the bench and began my journey west along the coast once more.

Suddenly a swallow flew past and stopped.

It hovered in the air looking directly at me and then flew off into the horizon with the fading sun.

I turned to see if she was still riding east.

Her figure had disappeared and I found myself waking up on the bedroom floor under the morning light.

Still dressed in last nights attire.

What a peculiar dream I thought.

The cupboard door was perched slightly open.

The knife lay upon the floor.

I managed to get myself up and headed downstairs.

I made a cup of tea and perched myself on the dining table with a bowl of cereal.

Elbows firmly off the table.

I looked outside to the garden.

A family of seven swallows flew around the garden all in sequence.