Late in the evening, when the harbour was quiet , we would walk down the steep street through pools of lamp light and past the warmly lit interiors of the fishermen's' cottages .
We headed to this secluded beach to meet friends, bring our guitars, light a driftwood fire and listen to the waves lapping on the skerries.
I was nearly 16 the first time we went down there. That was half a century ago and the memory is as fresh as yesterday.
The beach is still there with all its magic and midnight seclusion, the lobster fishermen in their little boats, the hen run, the fossilized tree stump and the familiar smell of dried bladderwrack. It still thrills me every time.......... or maybe that is just the memories.