In Search of Oldton

We are on the south west edge of the town, on the broads, where my dad sailed as a kid.

His log book - so neatly and lovingly compiled - is the only *real* thing I have left that connects me with my dad.

In it he includes a daily diary of his trips, photos of him as a boy, a layout of his boat, clippings from the local newspapers with the results of regattas and so on. He says nothing about how he is feeling.

This is also the place where Paul Conneally (an avid Oldton contributor) sails in a little white yacht with the number 56 on the sail. He's wearing a blue checked shirt and a yellow life jacket, and he looks exactly like David Puttnam.

Writers for the Future