Davy, a deaf mute, expressed himself through his sand sculptures.
All summer long, snoozing seals, languid lions and crazy crocodiles emerged along the beaches of Balham, much to the admiration of the local townsfolk.
Except for the Brogan boys, whose greatest delight, after a night on the beer, was throwing themselves into the centre of his creations.
In winter, with little to do, Davy’s frustrations mounted. But after the first heavy snowfall he rushed into the park, and sculpted a legion of dreadful demons near the amusement arcade.
Ma Brogan still misses her boys; Pa Brogan… well, he’s a come-day, go-day kinda guy anyhow.
How nice to see Dee Lovering’s picture of snow during these long, hot summer days. I feel quite nostalgic… well almost. Thanks to Rochelle, the untiring choirmistress of Friday Fictioneers, for keeping us all together, and singing from the same song sheet. And if you think I’ve been purposely exercising my alliterative skills this week… you’re right.