21 July 2012
I was about 8 when Dad first took me there. Him on his old battered Raleigh, me following on my first real bike. That green and special place that was to become for a while my childhood kingdom.Only a few miles from our tiny East End back street, it rose from the concrete and corrugated iron that was Dockland like some green and magical land. There were little hills and valleys, overgrown with brambles, thistles and a profusion of white flowers."What are all those flowers Dad?""They are Lily of the Valley," he said and I stared at them in awe.Of course they weren't, they were Bellbind scourge of all the gardeners and we were at Beckton Dumps. A long abandoned rubbish dump that nature, such as it was in those parts, had reclaimed. Here and there an old pram wheel or piece of the inevitable corrugated iron protruded, bearing witness to its true identity, but to me it was the countryside. I think my father was a bit of a romantic deep down, a kind and funny man, he may even have been a poet had our environment allowed. never mind Dad, I write them for you now. A year later my life changed. One of the early morning meat lorries hit dad as he was going to work, crushing his legs, crippling him for life. He was in hospital for a year and mum got the bus there and back every single day. I missed him terribly.With Mum spending so much time at the hospital and doing a cleaning job to make ends meet, I was left largely to my own devices. I was supposed to go to my Aunt and Uncle a few streets away. Aunt Daisy was a typical East Ender, dyed blond with a heart bigger than her ample bosom, she sang a lot in the local pubs, but unfortunately drank more than she sang. My Uncle was six foot four in his socks, weighed twenty stone with a broken nose and two cauliflower ears, he drank fourteen pints a night and his name was Cecil. Even as a child I recognised the hand of the Cosmic Joker at work. In truth nobody knew where I was most of the time and I took full advantage of it, going to the now out of bounds dump whenever I could.
to be continued.... TOM MAY
How Lillied Was My Valley (Part One) • Opuss № I