UNITED KINGDOM, Feb 03 — I was a forward thinking child from an early age having had my Davy Crockett hat stolen from my head at the age of five. I reasoned that the bigger you are the more likely you are to get away with things like that. Unfortunately I was no great size, so I reasoned, not unnaturally in my view, that I needed allies to retrieve that hat. Her war was equally disturbing facing ariel bombardment at both work and at home
I
was a forward thinking child from an early age having had my Davy Crockett hat stolen from my head at the age of five. I reasoned that the bigger you are the more likely you are to get away with things like that. Unfortunately I was no great size, so I reasoned, not unnaturally in my view, that I needed allies to retrieve that hat. A week pasted and despite my protestation to friends, no gathering of quasi Tennesseans formed for the vendetta, so I took matters into my own hands. I stole my mothers jewelry. This was my first venture into the shadowy world of bribery and courting power.
Not being aware of the term ‘sexist’ I distributed these treasured trinkets showing no bias to either gender at my Junior School in an attempt to ‘buy’ my gang. This was not a great strategy on my part but a valuable lesson was soon learned. Never trust a woman with an unsolicited gift.
Before the closing School Bell could ring one eminently forgettable female had reported my largesse to ‘Miss‘ who immediately changed from being the all singing and dancing recipient of my polished apple, into a finger wagging ear pinching tyrant. She lead me by the throbbing lobe through the building collecting on our way all the misappropriated goods from my would be avengers. Mum and Dad were not best pleased.
I grow up somewhat overshadowed by that incident never quite being able to connect with either parent, trust possibly being an issue. This mistrust was once put to the test and sadly, although not my fault, I was found guilty on the grounds of previous behavior.
I had a thoroughly deserved reputation as being a destructive lad, as there were not many panes of glass within a twenty to thirty yard radius of our back-garden that my suffering father had not replaced for an irate neighbor, they swearing to kill me if it ever happened again. Another lesson that I learned early in life, people don’t always do what they say, as I tested their resolve over and over and I’m still here to tell you the tale.
Anyway, one day I was at home on my own, Oh if only for a witness, when I saw the flight of a stone appearing over the far fence and ultimately smashing against a huge sheet of glass on the conservatory roof. Crash it went leaving splinters everywhere. Yes, you’ve guessed, haven’t you? I got the blame.
My father died before I had any chance to know him, and I must have been a nightmare to him. He had been in the Regular Army fighting in North Africa, Sicily and up through Italy where he remained as part of the occupying force when that Country capitulated. In relatively recent times it worried me that whilst there, and being only twenty-six and still single at the time, he may have had a liaison with a beautiful Italian seductress resulting in some poor misfortunate not knowing that they had a handsome step-brother. This lead me to visit the Naples area of southern Italy on a quest to uncover such person.
I was, it must be said, not hoping to find some poor relative, but the opposite, some rich person, rolling around in Liras with enough to see be out, but alas no-one was discovered.
My mother spent her war working in the canteen at the Royal Artillery Barracks in Woolwich, that’s where they met when my father came home from his traumatic times and what I pray were more pleasurable ones. Her war was equally disturbing facing ariel bombardment at both work and at home.
Her father was one of the first to own a house in the area where she was raised and that house, which was to become my home, was one of many to be bombed. Number 306 Wickham Lane was lucky though, the incendiary device did not however explode and was carried, so I was told, by a cousin of mine two hundred yards to an Ordnance disposal unit
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My first novel was published on 19 March and is available at Waterstone’s, Barnes&Noble and all the Amazon sites. THE DESOLATE GARDEN; a spy murder mystery. I am a London Licensed Taxi Driver.
My first novel was published on 19 March and is available at Waterstone’s, Barnes&Noble and all the Amazon sites. THE DESOLATE GARDEN; a spy murder mystery. I am a London Licensed Taxi Driver.
I suffer from intermittent attacks of sciatica and as I grow older they seem to be getting worse. Want to know when it all went wrong for my once broad strong back?
There was a man lovingly tending his garden one day when a passerby stopped and admired his craft. The stranger stopped and glanced, then finding a need to comment, lingered and lent against the wall propping himself up by stretching out a hand onto
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