As a child living in Whitby, when my Grandad visited he would stand me and my brother in the centre of the swing bridge, looking out to sea. Then, regardless of tourists, he’d tell us with great drama that when he died, he was going to have a Viking funeral. My brother was to fire the flaming arrow from the bridge (which he would mime), I was to blow the horn (which he would demonstrate). Much loved, we lost him 20 yrs ago, but he’d love that his name will regularly make that voyage to sea! Xxx
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