Clifftop - a childhood memory

I’m sitting on a gravely patch of scratched earth between two mounds of soft long grass. The seed heads sway in the wind, tickling my arms. Below me, the sea crashes noisily onto sharp grey rocks, sending up the smell of seaweed. I imagine the slick brown ribbons of weed with their ugly bubbles popping as I step on them. Not with bare feet though. Yuk ! The thought brings me back to reality and I can hear my mother calling my name. She sounds strange, her voice is higher than normal and I turn my head and shoulders round to look for her. I see her hair first as she crests the hillock betweens us. Her glasses have small sharp wings on the top corners of the lenses that make her look like an owl in my Puffin Book of British Birds.
She is walking down from the lighthouse that we were visiting before I got bored.
“Don’t move”, she shouts, then contradicts herself, “ Just come back from the edge, slowly”.
Her voice is strangled by the wind and I can feel the damp air tickle my cheeks as it rushes down the open collar of my thick red woollen jacket.
A gull squawks as it flies along the cliff face beneath my dangling feet .
I shuffle backwards over small sharp stones and soft rabbit droppings until I get my feet under me. I roll over onto my knees and stand.
As my mother shouts, “Bill, Bill, I’ve found him”, I walk towards her and into the worst row of my life.