Midnight Adventure


One summer evening, Marky, Scotty and I pitched a tent in Scotty’s back garden. He lived in Wolverstone Village. We crawled into our sleeping bags and waited for nightfall. As the sky darkened, we kitted up and slipped into the inky night. We melted through the shadows beside his house and listened. The amber glow of the street lamp to the front cast long shadows on the pavement. The air had chilled. No sign of anyone. We moved under the windows of his neighbour’s house and into the nearby lane. The full moon was good for when we reached the safety of the fields, but it left us exposed for about the next two hundred metres. Pavement bordered a wall to the right, backing onto houses. This provided cover from the darkened windows, but would leave us wide open if a car approached. To the left was a ditch, then a barbed wire fence surrounding a field containing two massive horses. We crept through the ditch as a compromise. Although overlooked by windows, we could keep to the shadows. Continue reading



At Wolverstone School, a friend and I discovered the world of camping in each other’s back gardens. Scotty was a stocky character with a cheeky grin and brown hair scruffily covering his ears. We formed a club called the Night Fighters. Scotty and I both liked anything army, so we were sergeants. Another friend, Taylor, also liked army and he was a corporal. Marky preferred the air force because he made model aeroplanes. He was a flight lieutenant. Clearly, we were a mixed services club. Continue reading

Finding My Way

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My parents decided to return to England after a year in Spain. Our lease on the flat was up and we spent the summer in a hotel with rooms on the ground floor near the outdoor pool. Its blue waters sparkled in the sunshine. There were often lines of ants marching along the walls or an occasional lizard darting about. In the bushes outside the patio doors, I discovered some spiders that seemed to have red fangs. When I got close, the spiders flew away. We used to have lunch in the bar and sank big glasses of orange drink until the infestation of cockroaches marched over our sandwiches. Continue reading

Anarchy In The Playground


The school became more unruly and some of the older boys argued with the teachers. Toward the end of summer term, all children were herded into the main hall and locked up. It was lunchtime and we didn’t know what was going on. The Spanish boys were trying to talk to the teachers through the door, banging it in frustration. The heat was getting unbearable in there and tempers frayed. After around an hour, I heard a window being smashed. With shards cleared from the edges of the window pane, kids began to pour out. The room cleared at a rapid rate and we peered out. It was only two metres down, so Marky and I jumped and walked clear. The glass crunched under our shoes. There seemed to be a riot going on with Spanish boys ransacking the place. It was nearly home time, so we waited at the back of the school to be picked up by Mum. Why this all happened was beyond us. But the school didn’t re-open that term, so it was our last day. Continue reading

How To Stop A Bully


I was skinny and quite reserved, only really chatting to the English and a few Spanish friends. One morning, before the summer heat rose, everyone waited to be called into class and I sat on a wall by the smaller upper yard. I was pushed and fell over the edge, a drop of about five metres. I landed awkwardly on an ankle. Marky was first to make sure I was alright and helped me to my feet. We looked up and there were loads of Spanish kids peering over the wall. The bell rang for lessons, so I limped over to queue up in our respective years. In the queue, a boy behind shoved me, leaned in and said in Spanish, “Did you enjoy your fall?” It was the bully of our year group. He’d picked on a lot of the Spanish recently, including my friends. He was much bigger than me and I’d tried to keep my distance. Continue reading

Franco Is Dead


One morning, I was listening to the local radio when the news declared General Franco had died. I didn’t understand the magnitude of the end of a dictatorship, the hopes for democracy and a new King. No, all I was concerned about was the bus driver announcing school would be closed for a week. I was so happy on that cold November morning, walking around, taking in what was going on. The Spaniards were subdued, dressed in black. Flags were at half-mast. It looked like this was a big thing, but I wasn’t going to be deterred. No school meant more fun. Continue reading



We had a brief stay in a hotel and soon moved to a third floor apartment in the centre of Huelva. It had a balcony overlooking the crowded, bustling street below and a newspaper kiosk on the corner. Marky and I used to sit on the balcony floor and laze away the heat of the summer, catching an occasional breeze. We spent hours shelling and eating sunflower seeds, as well as eating green olives and pleasantly spitting the stones over the edge of the balcony to the pavement below. Five points for hitting a passer-by and ten points if they looked around without spotting us giggling on the balcony. Continue reading

England Again

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Dad changed jobs once more so we moved back to England and settled in Billingham. Initially, I went to a Church of England School there, but didn’t like it much because the reading was all based around religion. In one lesson, a teacher showed us cards demonstrating jobs with pictures of a teacher and a policeman, things like that. We had to pick a job we would like to do when we grew up. I considered two pictures for a long time. One was of a binman and the other a wigged and gowned barrister. I chose the binman. Continue reading

Kid In America

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I’m awake and think about the early influences in my life. My parents met when Dad was a University student. They married young. Big brother, Marky, was born in Scotland and, two years later, I was born in London. Not long afterwards, Dad landed a job in the USA, so we upped sticks across the water. First, we lived in New York State and then moved over to Massachusetts. Home was a town called Plainville and, in time, I went to kindergarten there. My recollections are hazy. Continue reading



With the scan appointments booked, we collect the kids and make our way to the car. I will have to let some people know what’s going on. And I’m supposed to be going out tonight for some beers. As Michelle gets the kids in the car and closes the doors, I telephone my mate Rick from the car park and tell him I can’t make it out this evening because I have cancer. It’s a surreal and brief conversation. I keep it together and drive home. On arrival, I’m dazed. Michelle sorts the kids out for bedtime. Continue reading