This July, I thought, was a time of weird, uncanny, sunshine - it as though we were in a country under enchantment - the cool Purbeck fields and hills were now scorched, feverish, dreamscapes - I half expected to see Vincent van Gogh, searching the sky for crows -
We climbed up the side of Challow Hill, then walked along the chalk ridge towards the sea - the dazzling sky seemed to be just above our heads - I could see the torn masonry of the Castle, and the ridge beyond it, sweeping in long curve, like a dark wave, to Worbarrow Bay -
Penny identified birds and flowers - we saw a strange beautiful wand of purple flowers - Penny said it was a type of wild orchid - I looked out at the winding channels of Poole Harbour - I could see tendrils of reed beds - dark trees covered the islands - every so often we passed huge round bales of hay - sheep grazed upon the dry grass -
The path led us past tumuli and barrows - I stood on top of one of the domes of turf - I picked up a shard of flint - we walked past sinister radio masts - we could see Swanage, with its bay, dotted with yachts -
We'd put sun screen on our necks and legs - the thought of swimming in the glittering sea spurred me on - we pushed our way through nettles and brambles - my bare legs tingled from the stings - at last we reached the cliffs at the foot of Ballard Down -
We went down a shady path to the beach - Anne and I scrambled out of our sweaty clothes - we rushed into the sea - I gasped joyfully whilst I swam through the soothing waves - I imagined a semi tropical sea lapping Swanage, the pale nervy townspeople basking upon white sands - brilliant greenery covered the esplanade - glossy creatures were emerging from the water -
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