I was born feet first

dipping my toe

into the world

an only child

perhaps a lonely one.

 

when I was four

we moved from a

linoleumed Brixton flat

to Ealing and a garden,

an apple tree,

delphiniums, forget me knots.

I made houses for snails to play in

but they ignored them.

there was an allotment to explore.

and the park with paths lined with plane trees,

hip-deep with leaves in autumn,

diving into their crisp depths.

 

the last to learn to read,

maybe a regret at leaving

life’s illustrations behind!

“U is for umbrella.”

tying my hair in knots

while standing on one foot

trying to decipher

Janet and John.

I remember that the book

smelt of someone else’s sick

and the word gumboot

always sounded horrible to me.

 

then grammar school.

quiet and shy

hiding in the toilets

at lunchtime

to avoid the playground,

but only for one term.

made friends

who appreciated quirky me.

top in art and English

bottom in maths.

playing truant

to miss the dreaded games

if it was rainy and we had

“dancing with the boys.”

 

at fifteen, a huge crush

on the fill-in English teacher

Mr Neat (the other teachers all had flu.)

I sent him a story

about a tidal wave that

went around the earth

leaving the seabed empty in its wake

with the wrecks of centuries exposed.

and he knew it was from me,

and saw me after school.

“I’m married” he said -

as if that was the only obstacle!

and, wonder of wonders,

he gave me a stone,

a beautiful mottled pebble

of white and green.

 

I wish I had it now.