Rotary Young Writer of the Year 2008

Local Winner and District Finalist - Lucy Woods – A Holiday Mystery

Lucy Woods was the local winner and district finalist in the Rotary Young Writer of the Year 2008 competition and is to spend a day shadowing Vivien Meath, Editor of the Clitheroe Advertiser and Times, in the summer holidays.  Entrants were invited to write a story with the title “A Holiday Mystery”.  Lucy’s winning story follows:

A Holiday Mystery

1947

It was a warm, tranquil, midsummer's day.  Two girls were playing happily in a deserted meadow, the sun caressing their beaming faces.  One of the girls began to write a postcard, asking "Edie" to be quiet as she did so.

2007

I was on holiday by the sea and the weather was perfect.  So was my life.  Until it happened.

I remember feeling so excited as Dad drove us to the holiday cottage.  I hadn't a care in the world.  If only I had known the mysterious events that were about to unfold...

Miriam Ross was a cheerful, caring girl and we became friends instantly.  We first met on the beach, not far from the cottage.  She had an ever-so-slightly posh voice, similar to those of the newsreaders on the History Channel, my Dad's favourite.  She taught me a "new" game called Jacks.  She wore her hair in old-fashioned ringlets.  I hadn't met anyone like Miriam before.

The day before we were due to leave for home, I visited an antiques shop nearby to buy a thimble for my Mum.  An elderly lady served me and I noticed the initials on her name-tag – M R.  I idly wondered whether she was called Mary or Margaret.

She gave me an odd look and asked, "What is your name?"
"Katie Atherton," I told her.

She looked extremely confused as I paid her and just before I stepped outside, I looked back to discover that she was deep in thought.

Later that day, I found Miriam and asked her where she lived as I wanted to say goodbye the next day.

"24 Castle Row," she told me, smiling.

I smiled back, trying not to show my regrets about leaving.

Departure day came.  I searched the whole village for Castle Row, but couldn't find it.  I couldn't find Miriam either.  My last hope was the lady in the antiques shop.

"I can't find my friend Miriam's house, 24 Castle Row," I said sadly.

"I lived at that address when I was a young girl," the lady gasped.  "Castle Row was demolished many, many years ago."

I stood there, stock still, unable to take it all in.
"And my name is Miriam.  Miriam Ross," she added.

On the journey home I was very confused and I even wondered whether I had dreamt some of the events.  Eventually, I decided to put it behind me and accept it as a mere coincidence.  But I couldn't stop thinking about my friend Miriam.

A week later, I was delighted to receive a postcard from Miriam.  The picture on the card was of a castle, a row of houses beside it.  She had drawn an arrow pointing to number 24 and beside it, had written, "My house.  You never came!"  She wrote that she wished she could have introduced me to her best friend, Edith-Rose.  I began to tremble.

Edith-Rose was my grandma's name.

Then I noticed the date on the postcard: 8th August, 1947.