I remember the wall so clearly. Well, my damp and moss-covered allocated foot-and-a-half of it. It served as a boundary wall between the imposing red brick Victorian vicarage in the centre of the tiny North Devon village where I went to primary school, and the pavement alongside the old A361, which was the main single-file arterial route to the Atlantic coast.
Our school – two classes, maximum 30 kids in total, most of them related in some way – was on the opposite side as you left the village and was the domain of a married couple who took charge of one class each. Mr Holmes had the older kids ...
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