Ellanore

Every child needs a place of magic. In the already wonderful surrounds of West Wittering, in between boats, birds and snatches of sunshine, that place is Ellanore. It even sounds like a myth, too many letters and sounds to glory in.
You walk down towards Snowhill Creek, and instead of turning left to the infinite allure of the Crabbing Pond (kite string, bacon, bucket — the crabs NEVER LEARN) you skip off to the right, past the entrance to über-​snobby Roman Landing, through the clutch of gate and hedge, and follow the path along the sea, through the trees to Ellanore.
There’s no sign, but any child knows where it is. It’s a giant tree house and climbing frame all in one. There are huge forts to be built in the roots of trees, the raggedy remnants of swings to cling onto and — most importantly of all — plenty of room, further along, for parents to be boring and grown-​up. Ideally, of course, you’ll have left them behind.
The sun glints through the trees like a benign diamond. It’s hot. The earthy smells under your feet promise that your amalgam game of Power Rangers and Little Grey Rabbit will be The Best Game In The History Of Forever. When the sun dips, you’ll run over to the creek and go swimming, and put your game away, ready to uncover some other time, an evocative memory that floods your mind years later. That is the power of Ellanore.