Those were the days when there were still two postal deliveries a day; my parents complaining about their reduction from three. Bread was delivered twice daily too, in the baker’s own blue van. Milk came in a horse-drawn cart, which we looked out for in school...
Since it was meant to be the first day of Spring last Friday, the 20th of March, but many of us no doubt are feeling confused, bewildered and perhaps lonely, I thought it might be nice to lighten the mood briefly with this poem. I wrote it some years ago when I was in...
We went back to Croydon, our home, the place where I was born, sometime before the end of the war. I think it must have been in late 1943 or 44. I remember everything about the house feeling strange and yet familiar – I had no real memories, only a sense of...
