Remember, Remember...
Like most people,
Guy Fawkes Night calls to mind memories of my childhood.
I grew up in Stevenage: a much-maligned town, though when I was younger I wouldn’t hear a word said against it. I was an only child – and as a result, would spend a lot of time in my own company, entertaining myself.
I was obsessed with magic into my mid-teens – and would often been found in my mum’s bedroom, practicing the latest trick I’d bought mail-order from Davenport’s Magic Shop in front of the only full-length mirror in the house.
Any time not spent working on my sleight of hand was split evenly between Stevenage Indoor Market (looking for vinyl to add to my ever-growing record collection), or riding my BMX Panther around the town’s many cycle paths.
Mine was a simple childhood.
Our house was in the old town in the midst of a natural valley – and my mum’s bedroom window looked out on a view that impressed me. The garden backed onto an allotment with the railway line just behind it. Beyond that you could see a wide panorama of the town, stretching from the water tower, far left, to the back of the Confederation Life building.
It wasn’t the New York skyline, but I liked it.
The time I’d benefit most was Bonfire Night, when I could watch the Fairlands Valley Park firework display from the comfort of my home, rather than trudging through the mud in my wellingtons. I’d lean on the window ledge pressing my camera against the glass; trying and failing to document the fireworks.
I needn’t have worried about my sub-par photography: a couple of decades on and I can still picture it perfectly.
I wonder who lives there now. Perhaps they have children – and tonight they’ll be enjoying the selfsame view that sits in my memory.
I hope they enjoy it.
I grew up in Stevenage: a much-maligned town, though when I was younger I wouldn’t hear a word said against it. I was an only child – and as a result, would spend a lot of time in my own company, entertaining myself.
I was obsessed with magic into my mid-teens – and would often been found in my mum’s bedroom, practicing the latest trick I’d bought mail-order from Davenport’s Magic Shop in front of the only full-length mirror in the house.
Any time not spent working on my sleight of hand was split evenly between Stevenage Indoor Market (looking for vinyl to add to my ever-growing record collection), or riding my BMX Panther around the town’s many cycle paths.
Mine was a simple childhood.
Our house was in the old town in the midst of a natural valley – and my mum’s bedroom window looked out on a view that impressed me. The garden backed onto an allotment with the railway line just behind it. Beyond that you could see a wide panorama of the town, stretching from the water tower, far left, to the back of the Confederation Life building.
It wasn’t the New York skyline, but I liked it.
The time I’d benefit most was Bonfire Night, when I could watch the Fairlands Valley Park firework display from the comfort of my home, rather than trudging through the mud in my wellingtons. I’d lean on the window ledge pressing my camera against the glass; trying and failing to document the fireworks.
I needn’t have worried about my sub-par photography: a couple of decades on and I can still picture it perfectly.
I wonder who lives there now. Perhaps they have children – and tonight they’ll be enjoying the selfsame view that sits in my memory.
I hope they enjoy it.
