Sunday, October 11, 2015


As I approach the twilight of my life my memories go back to the earlier years. I remember the days when I used to go out with a shotgun. When I had my first car, and then after that my first motorcycle sidecar out fit.

And when I graduated up to a newer model bike.

The Easter day when I went down to Riverside Farm in Kingston Seymour with friends to see the pups that Frank Maynard’s Labrador bitch Judy had produced.
The way that the three of them had immediately picked the pups thay wanted while the one I thought was the best had been un-chosen.
How I had pondered on it during the ride back and then when I had got back phoned Frank and told him I would have the last dog pup. A pup that grew into a dog I will never forget. A 50pence bargain that filled my heart with pleasure and whose death made me resolve never to own another dog again. For no other dog would or could, compare with him.
Of the white cat that had turned up in our shed one Christmas Eve and presented itself to me. Scared to death and frightened, ill at ease and rather untrusting yet let me feed it milk and some food. Then the following day came to me when I offered it another meal and permitted me to pick it up and soothe its fears. And how I was enabled to carry it down to the house and it adopted me.

When I was moved it too moved with me to Marson Road and used to know more people there than I did. Stretching himself along the brass doorstep and condescending to allow folk passing by to make a fuss of him.
I remember too the lady that remarked to her companion as they came back to the car park to her car; “I think that cat must be a stray, it always seems to be about here. I wondered whether or not to report it to the RSPCA”
I remarked as I was checking on the coal bunker outside the back door. “He is no stray he is mine. Or rather I am his; I don’t know what he thinks but he acts to me as though that is what is on his mind”
She laughed and said to me “That is what cats are like if you get a good one”

Is this what getting old does? When I can think back and remember more of those early days than I can of last week, and the week before?
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