My earliest memories.

Hiding in a large cardboard box with a few hundred or maybe thousand photos in it,  there is a photo of a young boy holding two bottles of beer.


I can remember that quite clearly, at Uncle Bert’s a friend of Dad’s from work.  On this particular occasion Dad and Bert had a drink in the parlour and I was sent to fetch them two bottles, which I collected from a wicker shopping basket outside in the hall.

Bert was an avid photographer and developed his own photos in the bathroom.   His wife Irma was German, and threw amazing Christmas parties and had some cute German Christmas ornaments which I had never seen the likes of.

I remember one time Bert letting me watch him while his photos being developed in the bathroom, bathed in red light from the safety bulb, while Irma’s stockings hung on a makeshift line to dry over the bath.

They lived in a large bungalow on big barn lane, had a huge garden, and Bert built a Wendy house for his girls at the bottom of his garden, well hidden by huge shrubs.  Magical times.

My next memory was my first day at school.  the only problem is, my memory is different to that of my mother.  She remembers dropping me off at Mrs Follow’s class, and me running off to play while she tiptoed away.   I recall realising she had gone and bursting into tears, followed by big hugs off of Mrs Follows.

As I write, even more childhood memories flood back.   How much time do you have?

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