EARLY YEARS...

63 Bamville Road, Early Years

Fragmented memories.

I was five or six:

A general dullness, 

Almost sepia.

A complete chill,

Or does recall play its tricks?

Front parlour.

I was a child:

A timid resistance,

Almost constricting.

A behaved existence  

With a father rarely mild.

Gloomy hall.

I was a little in awe:

A lonely childhood, 

Almost terrified.

A perfect falsehood,

Behind a closed door.

Hidden stairs.

I was fascinated:

An access door,

Almost unnoticeable.

A draught excluder  

And more space created

Family bedroom.

I was deposited:

A single bed, 

Almost cornered.

A silent presence,

Parents’ relationship tested.

Kitchen fireplace. 

I was tempted:

A news-page drawn,

Almost burning.

A terrifying experience

And from a thrashing, not exempted.

Outside lavatory.

I was instructed:

A morning dropping,

Almost instantaneous.

A plaintive beckoning,

Tissue to be administered.

Portable pillar.

I was attracted:

A smoker’s aid,

Almost carved.

A dark wood, 

Silver ashtray supported.

Patterned sofa.

I was partial:

A dull-red, 

Almost faded.

A childhood seat,

Flower print inconsequential.

Privet hedge.

I was allowed:

A shearing, occasionally,

Almost marshalled.

A tangible boredom

Cast its depressing shroud.

Polished brass.

I was aware:

A pungent odour,

Almost unbearable.

A lingering stench

For a child’s nose to bear.

Sepia memory.

I was impressionable:

A colourless home, 

Almost custodial.

A silent sanctuary,

Its effects indelible…

Pete Ray

The house was certainly dull. 

Mom and dad lived in the front room, my nan in the parlour, for it was her house.

I remember the extra door in the parlour which opened onto the stairs, which also prevented cold air from upstairs entering the downstairs rooms. 

I slept in my parents’ room. Not good, I suppose.

Watched my nan ‘draw’ the fire in the kitchen with a double page of newspaper, which drew air to excite the flames. I tried it, nan caught me, dad thrashed me.

Mom’s cleaning of brass items was smelly but I can still see and feel the dark red, patterned sofa we had.

The ashtray was about a metre high, made from dark, carved wood with a flat top and a silver ashtray. 

I was forced to sit on the loo each morning, out in the garden and call my dad to clean me with tissue. I hated that.

The privet hedge? I used shears once or twice. Was watched closely though, then told to go and play in the back garden…

A good time there?

No.