This is my 11-year-old Granddaughter's version:
“Come on, this ancient artifacture must be worth a fortune! You must be mad to not want to sell it,” Mr Harrows said to Mrs Rosas. A few days ago, Mrs Rosas was digging in her vegetable garden when her spade hit something hard. Puzzled and curious, she bent down and started brushing the dirt off. She uncovered an old golden plate, rusted and filled with great detail. It was so intricate and precious, Mrs Rosas called over her good friend, Mr Harrows. “It would fill me with mirth to see this shabby old place redone with the costs, you could have it painted and get new equipment with money to spare!” He said gesturing her lounge and kitchen, a small, uninviting place where the walls peeled and the stove was practically falling apart. They walked down to the firth, and watched the rough Cornish sea crash down on the rocks. “You know, not everybody wants wealth, Mr Harrows. And I shall keep this so called ‘treasure’ as a souvenir,” Mrs Rosas said thoughtfully. Just then, some kids came running by. “Hey! You found our plastic treasure for drama club!” One said. “Yeah, Alex threw it over the fence the other day and we didn’t know where it landed!” Alex Threshhold lived next door to Mrs Rosas. Suddenly everything made sense, and Mrs Rosas punched Mr Harrows on the back playfully. “I told you!”, were her only words.
This is my version:
Was The plan to tRansfer his home going to be worth it? Living down by the coast was harsh, especially in Winter. So the decision was made and the house was transferred to a barge and carefully towed up the firth and relocated onto its new site. The job was completed and, with great mirth, the family celebrated.
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