Category Archives: Autobiography

A strong young man

Back in the early seventies whilst working as a newly appointed foreman plumber at the DLO (Direct Labour Organisation) for the London Borough of Hackney a job came in for a roof repair to the Stoke Newington Town Hall. Of course, … Continue reading

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Spring in the City

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How wonderful were my early days

Mid 1940s to 1953 I lived at 59 Gibson Square in Islington. Each month the rent collector Mr Beetle (yes, really), would arrive on the doorstep to inspect the property and collect the rent. The rent not only Mum and Dad paid, … Continue reading

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Peg Solitaire

Such a childish puzzle Jumping pegs over the nearest neighbour Guessing, muddled wrong moves Whatever possessed Mum to persevere? Sheer determination I guess, Whilst we’re watching TV Mum had the Solitaire board on her lap. There was much frustration. After … Continue reading

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My Romantic Parents

My mother wrote this on her 80th birthday. I find it both poignant and romantic and twenty-five years later it is still a powerful statement. Chris

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William Tyndale Junior School toilets

Our junior school, behind the Islington Town Hall in Upper Street, was once called Sebbon Street School but was ‘rebranded’ as William Tyndale just before I went there. The school toilets were austere as were the 1950s teaching methods. Most of the teachers responded … Continue reading

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The Bottom Shelf

For more than half a lifetime Mostly ignored over the years Dads old sheet music Had been lost to my ears. There it languished, paper slowly rotting Forgotten, those lovely words and melodies Piano music, difficult for me I would … Continue reading

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A Moment of Simple Bliss

Like many young men in 1960 my Dad taught me how to drive in his old Standard 45 car. I was sixteen at the time and in those first few lessons I thought it very complicated. It was the first time … Continue reading

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Get Used to It

In times, long gone I had broad shoulders Even, ‘barrel chested’ Thick arms and wrists. Legs were not so good But I didn’t care At thirteen, I had seen Many adverts for Charles Atlas. I knew I was the type … Continue reading

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My Bedroom In The Good Old Days

God knows how many times the old bedstead I slept in, as a child, was handed down. It was a  1940s double bed with a wooden headboard with slatted vertical boards and had three carved holes in the shape of hearts over … Continue reading

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