Returning to Scarva

As children, we could take or leave the Twelfth, but we couldn’t wait for the Thirteenth each year. I grew up just a few miles from Scarva. My Dad drove through the village every day on his way home from work, stopping at the little shop that used to be there to pick up his newspaper. We played in the park, and our local chippy was there, long since closed. For most of the year it was a quiet, sleepy ... Read more...