Category Archives: Uncategorized

New Sherwood School, Worple Road, Epsom, Surrey. Dad takes the day off work and I climb past the tipping front seat into the back of the red Morris Minor. Mum, in smart Jaeger frock and new perm, sits in the … Continue reading →

Latchmere Road Junior and Infants School, Kingston-upon-Thames, Surrey. The soft crooning of the trolleybus provides a bemused counterpoint to the wracking of my shameless sobs. Mum hugs me tight to her side whilst staring miserably at our dual reflections in … Continue reading →

Medbourne, nr. Market Harborough, Leicestershire. Medbourne is, or was back then, a small village a few miles north of Market Harborough in Leicestershire.  My father, a sickly boy of 12, was sent there in 1923 by his parents to stay … Continue reading →

47 Ritherdon Road, Wandsworth, South-West London. Nanny & Grandpa Jones live in a flat on the middle floor of a three-storey Victorian semi-detached house at 47 Ritherdon Road in Balham. Mum & Alan drop me off for my weekend visit … Continue reading →

1, Hockenden Cottages, Swanley, Kent. My bed at Granny & Grandad Roberts’ house, 1 Hockenden Cottages, is as high as a haystack. I can lean my forehead against the edge of the faded counterpane. The room smells faintly of lavender. … Continue reading →

Leigh-on-Sea, Essex. I am being carried down the beach at Leigh-on-Sea. The tide is coming in. The sharp primeval tang of salt makes my eyes smart. I struggle & half fall, half slither onto the sand. My father quickly stoops … Continue reading →

I’m posting in slightly revised form a series of autobiographical sketches that I ran originally on my previous blog, Dick Jones’ Patteran Pages. 28a Emmanuel Road, Balham, South-West London. There is a railway embankment on the far side of a strip … Continue reading →

oh by Raoul Duguay ALL LOVE TAKES ROOT by Noel Colombier Because all love takes root I shall plant it in my garden I shall plant it with patience Every day of every season So that I can offer it … Continue reading →

‘Abu Ward − whose name means “father of the flowers” − nurtured and tended to the plants that flourished under his care even as Aleppo and its inhabitants continued to die around them. “My place is worth billions of dollars” he … Continue reading →