Chapter 1

I will tell the story of me, an ordinary chap,
Not one you would notice on the human map.
I was never to stir up the human race;
Start at the beginning, seems a good place.

Born in Ipswich, Suffolk's largest town,
Tho quite big, it wore a rural crown.
Factories there supplied the country sort;
Railway, airfields, and a good-sized port.

My dad worked in the port, a Stevedore;
His station in life would not offer him more.
Mum once in service, she was very small,
Strong-minded, humorous, loved by all.

Lived in a council house, in a square,
Of course the place is no longer there.
I suppose they were lower working class,
Shown by their dress, as you would pass.

Clothes they wore mostly secondhand,
But neat and tidy, always looked grand.
Late in '36 I entered this earth
Yelling my head off for all I was worth.

Some very early life I cannot recall.
Remember spreading nappy contents on the wall.
Mum came up "My life, what a sight to see."
Dad laughing, saying "An artist he'll be!"

At about three we moved from this place
With a nine-month baby sister, a chubby new face.
We moved up the road, hundred yards or so,
Not very far, as distances go.

Why this move was never quite said.
Bigger place? Room for a third bed?
To me it seemed quite a disaster,
Downstairs walls not covered in plaster.

The house a duplex, then called a semi;
Detached houses few, if there were any.
Dad painted the walls a bottle green;
Made the walls to me look obscene!

Now I realize paint was probably nicked,
Dad wouldn't that colour have picked.
The house on the corner, a bigger lot,
Keen gardener, dad liked it a lot.

Estate road in front lined with trees
To suit the area, commons if you please.
A side road, two sets of semis long;
Kids down which to the school did throng.

Our garden was on three sides, to me big;
Dad would be out there, most of it to dig.
A large shed which he called a loft;
Looking after pigeons, gentle, seeming soft.

Also a greenhouse, ten foot by four;
He really couldn't ask for more.
Between gardens was a privet hedge;
Most of the garden put down to veg.

Toms and cucumbers dad grew in the greenhouse,
Where sometimes our cat would catch a mouse.
My next memory, a nursery school place
Told stories, paint, got some on my face.

Given a small bottle of cool milk to drink,
To make our brains grow and able to think.
On to our mattress by mid-afternoon,
Soon fell asleep, not a moment too soon.

Fetched home by mum, she would tut tut.
Spit on her hanky to remove the paint smut.