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To me it is standing on Caldy Hill under a clearing sky after a dull, wet day and hoping for a rare glimpse of Snaefell or the Lakeland summits across the wild waters of the Irish Sea.It is the hustle and bustle of Birkenhead Market on a Saturday afternoon, or waiting on Woodside landing stage in the damp gloom of a November morning for a ferry to Liverpool.
l think it may be best left to the expert on the Wirral to describe it. To many who work in Liverpool it is merely somewhere to come home to in the evening, somewhere to live, somewhere to shop.
In my Wirral are breezy cliff-top walks above the wayward Dee, the romance of smugglers still in the air; and the deep cuttings of an old railway, now a country park, rich in wild flowers, birds and animals.
Trying to describe my old Wirral home I felt at a loss for words, some regions were dilapidated old dockland sites, run down factories and overcrowded housing.
Yet other regions are beautiful in their wildlife, flora and views. Having grown up on the Wirral and now exploring its ways, I am dismayed at just how much I actually missed!
Or dark winter days on the Mersey when sea, land, and sky merge to form one grey shroud.
And rare days in the depths of winter when snow and ice drape the Dungeon falls and only the song of the robin pierces the silent woods.