Why I Used To Like Red Headed Men.OR:Why Life Is Full Of WTF Moments

ALthough I was born in England,I was raised on a small island in the English Channel.Jersey,is one of a group of four small islands,about thirteen miles from France and one hundred miles from the English coast.It's a beautiful place,much like Bermuda,with a sub tropical climate,palm trees and beautiful vistas.

Our house was just set back far enough from the beach and sea to be safe,but during a bad gale ,the waves would hit the lower wall of the house.Fortunately,our house was built of solid Jersey granite,and had stood for centuries.One day,when I was about seven,I was playing atop the sea wall with some friends.The sea was very rough,the sky dark and it looked like a storm was brewing.The tide was in,so the waves were crashing against the sea wall.We were not afraid of the sea.We had all grown up alongside of it,and had salt water in our veins.

For some,now,long forgotten reason ,my friend Francine gave me a shove and I tumbled,head over arse into the sea.It was pointless to struggle.I was sucked under and dashed against the wall by the waves.I opened my eyes to a very green world and saw a baby octopus doing a graceful dance in front of me,dragged to and fro,much like I was.The sea is such an awesome power,I was a bit of dandelion fluff compared to it's might.

I was very aware I was dying and yet I was not afraid.All of a sudden,I was grabbed roughly and dragged up to the surface where I proceeded to choke on lungs full of sea water.Someone had a tight hold on me from behind,but he was having trouble holding us above the under-tow.It was trying to suck us down,while the waves battered us against the wall.With a mighty heave he threw me halfway up the wall,where other hands grabbed me and pulled me to safety.How he managed to save himself,I do not know.I was busy choking and gasping like a beached fish as I lay on the cobbled promenade beside the wall.

I couldn't breathe.Someone was putting pressure on my back,pressing and releasing.I choked up great gouts of water and got some air.The next thing I knew,I was vomiting,spewing sea water on all and sundry.Someone was assisting
me,holding me very gently and talking to me.

When I had finished coughing and gagging,I turned and looked up into the bluest eyes I had ever seen.His face was covered in freckles and his fiery red hair was plastered to his head.He was sopping wet and shivering.He grinned.I fell instantly in love for the first,not the last,time.By then my mother had come charging across the road with a blanket,enveloped me from head to toe and carried me away.

Later,when my parents sought him out to thank him,we learned that he was in his early twenties and had been walking by,in a funeral procession,following the hearse that carried his father's remains,when he heard the cries for help.
He had thrown off his suit coat,his top hat and his shoes and had dived into the water in a matter of seconds.
He came to visit and asked me if I was okay.I was struck speechless,so overwhelmed was I,by my love for him.He seemed to understand and gave me one of those heart stopping grins and ruffled my hair. I never saw him again,but he lives in my heart,still.

Another time,another country--I must have been about nine years old.
Some bullies had me cornered in the schoolyard.They were mocking
my English accent,which also had a soupcon of French(Jersey is bi-lingual).
They decided to beat my head in(not for the first time).They had me on the ground and had bloodied my nose,when a big shadow blocked out the sun...

To be continued......