Just enough to frighten the life out of me.

Life Earlier on today I heard my first gunshot.

Travelling up and down Merseyrail's Southport line all of my life, I've looked at the names of the stations and wondered what the actual place was like. So with time on my hands, I decided to travel the route and finally alight at those stations which have otherwise been a mystery and just go and finally have a look.

As it turned out, there were less places to stop I thought, having already been to the likes of Formby and Waterloo and I quickly discovered that there was a reason why my parents hadn't dragged me off the train at Hillside. There isn't very much for the idle tourist to do. These are just places were people live.

Childhood illusions were shattered left and right as I strained to find something interesting to look at. Bank Hall offers a good view of some wind turbines. Walk far enough away from Seaforth and Litherland's station and you reach the Leeds/Liverpool canal. Freshfield is a residential area with a level crossing, a cafe and a range of financial services.

Hightown seemed like it was going to be the least interesting of all. Like many of the stations on the line, it's mostly a feeder platform for the sand dunes and the walk along the Mersey. A pretty retirement village in a similar style to Port Sunlight or for our international readers, Leadworth in Doctor Who.

With only half of the day gone I decided to go and look at those dunes. Lacking any sense of direction and despite having looked at the map, I was fairly certain, rather quickly, that I'd gone in the wrong direction. But I kept walking, knowing that I couldn't be that far away from either the beach or the railway line.

Sure enough, eventually I did see what looked like the dunes ahead of me; tall grassy hill, lots of sand. It wasn't long before the new found confidence in my stride was reduced to a wimpy stroll as I noticed the KEEP OUT! signs and barbed wire. This was not public access to the beach.

This was not access to anyone but the Ministry of Defence because I'd stumbled upon Altcar Rifle Range. Looking up to the top of that tall hill, I could now see a sentry on guard duty silhouetted against the blue sky. He didn't turn to look at me and yet I still felt very vulnerable, very certain I was being watched.

Having got my breath back, I thought better of staying and and quietly slipped away. As I turned into the residential street that innocuously leads up to the training camp, I heard sudden noise, then a smattering of similar sudden noises. I jumped. A lot. And wondered what-in-the-hell-was-happening.

It was gun fire, of course, and this was the first time I'd heard it in real life. On television, yes. In films, obviously. But never with my own ears and not this close. Assuming they were live rounds, they had less aural punch than I imagined. More like a succession of pops, like a champaign cork. Just enough to frighten the life out of me.

I could still hear them and even as I neared the railway station the sound was still ever present. The juxtaposition was strange, being in the middle of what should be a quiet place were professional people live out their retirement, forever punctuated by gun shots.

One of the locals, a pensioner, was getting out of a car. Initially stopping her to question her about directions, I had ask her the inevitable. Do you live around here? Yes, she said. How do you live with it? The what? The gunshots? Oh, well, (she chuckled), after a while you stop hearing them ...