Reminiscing

Only one thing mattered during those long summer months whilst growing up (apart from playing), and that was stories. I would walk down to the library in Saltaire and take out six books at a time - whizz through them and go back for more. Another favourite place for books was the small post office which sold cheap hardbacks of Lorna Doone, Treasure Island and Enid Blyton's various collections. There was stationery too. Silvine notebooks in deep red, textured covers with fine lines or squares were my favourite. 

And the pencil case I had was always a wooden box -the kind that had a sliding lid. Then there were my father's old fountain pens -none of them work now, but I would spend up to half a day cleaning them and getting them writing when I was a child. 

My step-sister had a great collection of books, some of them old colonialist tales of hunters in Africa, the Cherry Tree series and Sherlock Holmes. She bought me The Hobbit, To Kill a Mocking Bird, and Moby Dick -keen to encourage my interest in stories - she chose well though I have to confess. I also adored poetry and developed a liking for all kinds of styles.

I was a keen nosie-parker and would watch the world idle by on hot afternoons, whilst sitting on a cushion on the front doorstep, with a notebook and pen. My observations were brief and officer-like and included all kinds of details about neighbours, strangers and animals. I loved the sounds of summer in a town - busy roads, ice cream vans and rollerskates.

Our local police officer  would often stop and talk to me and ask me what I was writing about - and would also make suggestions about the kind of things he thought were useful. This set a precedent, and I and an old friend took to walking up and down local streets noting details of cars, washing on lines and who was out and who was sunbathing in their backyard. 

And so it went on....