There's no place I'd rather be!

On January 3, I talked about our family's move to the little fishing village of Flamborough. My father was working as a photographer at Butlin's Holiday Camp in Filey and life was good.

I began to attend the local school, and, to my parent's horror, gained a Yorkshire accent. The kids in my school loved to make fun of my 'posh' London accent, so I quickly learned how to drop h's and pick up the local slang.... "Aye ad a guid diy -- went on't beach wi me friends." (Translation: I had a good day -- went on the beach with my friends).

But when financial disaster struck Billy Butlin in the Bahamas, what had seemed to be a certainty of a job for my father for the next five years quickly came to an end.

This led to him taking over the management of a derelict Golf Club, and in mid-1952 we moved a mile and a half down the road from Flamborough Village, all the way to the end of that promontory sticking out into the North Sea -- Flamborough Head. You'll see, 2/3 of the way up the middle of the photo, a black arrow pointing to a tiny building with a black roof -- that was our new home. Perpendicular to that there is another slightly larger building, also with a black roof -- that's the Flamborough Head Golf Club, and you can see the golf course ranging back across from the cliffs.

Way off to the left of our house you can see the 'new' white lighthouse, and up and slightly to the right of that you can see the 'old' lighthouse, which was actually a beacon.

At the end of the path leading from the lighthouse down to the cliffs is the foghorn station.

Flamborough Head was always a nightmare for mariners, and its cliffs and rocks turned the sea onto a graveyard for many a ship caught in the horrific storms that batter the Headland. There are hundreds of wrecks at the bottom of the North Sea, up and down the east coast of Yorkshire..This is the Rosa, which wrecked on the rocks at Flamborough Head in the early 1900's. But Flamborough's claim to fame (well, there are so many, but this is a famous one) is the Battle of Flamborough Head, which took place on September 23, 1779. John Paul Jones lost his ship, the Bon Homme Richard, in that fierce battle. It sank to the bottom of the North Sea, just off the Headland and, in spite of even Clive Cussler's efforts to find it, its whereabouts still remain a mystery.

When we first moved there, we had no idea of Flamborough Head's (FH from now on) attractions and history. It turned out to be the most amazing place to live! For my sister and me, at least, it was a little bit of heaven on earth! I am not sure I have the stamina to record all we learned and all we experienced, but I'll do my best. First here is a close-up of our house and the Golf Club:The cars are lined up in front of the old golf club, and our new little home, the "Dormy House" is the one with the chimney. Apparently, the Dormy House was where travelling golfers would stay when they came for tournaments at one time. (I can't believe I am old enough to have been living in the era of these 'old fashioned' cars -- one of them there is ours!)This is me, sitting on top of the big water tank outside our front door. My sister's bedroom virtually overlooked the bay.

Here's a black and white photo with a great picture of the Dormy House on top of the cliff, with the club house beside it. And here is a more recent photo. You can just see the footpath leading up the cliff in the distance (under the 'm' in Flamborough). The Dormy House and Club house were at the top of the footpath, although they are no longer there in this photo. Quite some time after we had moved away from the Headland, the two old buildings were torn down because of the eroding cliffs -- you can see the new club house just a little further up the hill.

Both of these old buildings had been used, we think, by the military during the war. FH was a strategic military location, and, even when we were living there, spread out at intervals over the cliffs, were round, concrete 'pill boxes" with just an open doorway and tiny slits for lookout windows. Soldiers would be stationed at the windows with binoculars, watching for the enemy's approach by air or sea. There was one on the cliff just below our house -- it made a great hideout for us as kids -- we played many a game in and on top of it!

Our Dormy House was an awesome place to live, especially in a storm. It was reinforced all around with corrugated iron to protect it from the elements. The gale force winds would whip up the waves, and our little house would vibrate with the ferocity with which they were pounding the cliffs - 400 hundred feet below us! Even the windows were coated with the salty spray.

At night the lighthouse would go into action, its revolving light reflecting through our windows. And the foghorn would sound, warning the ships to steer clear of the rocks, with its mournful, loud moaning. I loved it! I would curl up snug and warm in bed, under my thick comforter, and think that there was no place I would rather be!

Next time: Smugglers, birds, donkeys and fish and chips!