The 'Ragged-Arsed-Rovers' of The Triangle Gang were at large again. (Thank God, no ASBOS then, otherwise all my friends ...and me too, little Mickey Drippin', would have earned a full set or more by now!)

Penarth was strangely quiet. The Americans had left behind their Nissen huts in Neale's Wood (now Northcliffe Estate - next to the present-day Headlands School). We had not realized the significance of all those flat-bottomed barges, with the odd drop-down hinged metal doors, which had previously lain forlornly about on the shingle beach near Penarth Docks. Now they had disappeared too.

So, bored and with time hanging, as usual, we wandered through the woods, climbing trees, tearing our pants, shouting and whooping as only real Red Indians could, 'cowboys' or 'windy-bums' - all. Some, hungry kids, as always, tried tasting the beech-mast, declaring it 'smashin', but surreptitiously spitting it out and grinning if we had caught out someone else, stupid enough to believe us.

Then a few of us idly inspected the outside of one of the empty Nissen huts. One lad even got upon his pal's back to stare through into the hut, cupping his hands round his eyes to see more clearly the dark interior. "Cor! Comics!", he yelped as he fell back.

That was enough for all of us. With the help of a rusty penknife the sort of soft Bakelite window was carved open and we got inside. The jumbled mess of this Marie Celeste mysterious scene of abandonment tempted us to explore further. Away in one seemingly empty locker, on the floor lay a small pile of tiny packets. Ripping one open, I found curious balloons - all the same creamy whitish colour.

The other kids hadn't noticed me rummaging around, I suppose. They were all too absorbed in finding comics or a few odd broken packs of Camel cigarettes. Laying on the empty bunks, one or two were even pretending to be GIs, reading their 'funnies' and smoking/coughing away at a Camel.

I stuffed a few of the packets in my pocket and, only later on the way home - finding a bit of string amongst the other junk in my bulging pockets, blew up the first "balloon" I had freed from its packet, tied the length of string to it and, trailing it behind me, went down the front steps under the archway and through the door opposite the coal shed ... and in.

Mum smiled as I went into the basement sitting room. "Look what I've got!" I proudly called. But, puzzling this, she didn't seem at all pleased at my find of American Balloons. In fact, she took them all away, before sending me to the shops. But I could have sworn I saw a funny little smile on her face ... though she was a bit red.

Must have been that old fire ... no need on a sunny day like that!

Mike Ford - Penarth - April 2007