Storytelling Sunday- the journey

When I was seven my family and I moved to the other side of the world for a year.

We moved to the Falkland Islands. 

I remember being told about the Falklands and not being able to get my head around the concept of it. As a seven year old I forgot that Britain was an island too and imagined that as soon as we stepped out into the Falklands, the island would tip like a plastic toy in a bath tub!

That year on the little island is probably the most magical of my childhood. 

I remember our school which had just 24 pupils. I remember walking to school one day in a blizzard and my four year old brother being bowled along the road by the force of the wind. 

I remember wearing walking boots everywhere, about travelling around in the land rover and visiting the nearest "town" 30 miles away on a road with ditches along each edge.

I remember not being able to get most foods. Of drinking UHT milk for a year. I remember how lemonade was saved just for Sunday because it was so expensive. 

I remember school trips in helicopters and aeroplanes. Holidays to deserted corrugated iron houses where we sat two feet away from penguins. 

I remember watching dolphins jump either side of our boat and seals and sea lions bathing on the rocks.

I remember the endless blue sky and the trees that were bent horizontal because of the force of the wind.

I have hundreds of stories of our time there. 

Enough to make a series.

My memories are the vivid and colourful recollections of a child. 

As a family we often talk about our time there. We have lots of things around our house to remind us of the Falkland Islands but perhaps the most precious is our bell. 

There were many skilled craftsmen out on the Island and sadly there was still clear evidence of the war. Before we left my parents commissioned a craftsman to carve into this old bomb shell and make it into a bell. The map of the island is inscribed into one side and our family name and dates into the other.

A Naval officer who was a family friend made the beautiful red and white rope with which to ring the bell. 

For years it hung by the stairs and was rung when it was time for lunch or supper. Now it hangs in our porch, to be rung enthusiastically by my Granny whenever she enters the house. 

It is precious as an object in itself and precious in the memories it stirs of that journey to the other side of the earth.  

Today I am joining in with the lovely Sian and her Storytelling Sunday- pick your precious. Do pop over to visit other bloggers and read about their precious things. Thank you Sian for the prompt about holidays and journeys. It was just what I needed to tell this story!