I stood on a flat roof and waved a flag, excited to see the fĂȘte procession. I could look over the parapet – just – my nostrils
resting on warm white-washed brick. A seaside bungalow my universe. Flag-waving a game.

The wooden train was blue and yellow, wheel-and-rope powered, pulled by its creator. My carpenter-father built the stage and
I played my part.

The red tricycle, a taste of freedom, pedalling in the garden, going nowhere.

My toy dog Jock was the one-eyed keeper of secrets

hidden from family photos –

never forgotten.

The warm pain