Memories

My Mam always used to appreciate the effort the good folks of Rookhope put into making their village, nestled away in the North Pennines, pretty all year round. She always said she would like to write a letter to the organisers and leave it at the village shop. I don't think she ever got round to it, but whenever I pass through there on a sunny day and see the flowers in the little mining train carriages, and the hanging baskets on the houses, I think of my Mam and I smile. I also realise how much I miss her. Maybe I should write the letter for her.
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