I remember: reflections on writing

 

I remember Nelly Crabtree, who had flowers in her tiny garden and hair like freshly-fallen snow.

I remember George, who called me Curly and liked to pick me up.

I remember how I screamed to be put down.

I remember Norman and his ornaments.

I remember the campers, who turned up for a brew in the morning and didn’t leave until gone tea time.

I remember Tracy and her Pierrot wallpaper.

I remember John, who could touch the tip of his nose with his tongue.

I remember Helen’s birthday party, when she played the organ.

I remember bouncing a ball against a wall.

I remember the boys from the sweet shop.

I remember kissing a boy from the sweet shop against the wall I bounced the ball on.

I remember the old lady round the backs, who assessed the length of my leg from ankle to knee.

I remember she told me I would be tall one day.

 

I remember when they told me we were leaving, for a better house on a better street, just five minutes walk away.

I remember the neighbour who said, ‘you won’t speak to us again once you move down there.’

I remember thinking very hard about that.

I remember taking it as a truth.