Skip to main content


Just a boy from Bristol

PART TWO


"We will have bluebells in the spring, and roses in the summer," said Mum when we moved into Halsbury Rd, and for the first time we had a garden of our very own. Sadly for Mum, whatever she planted, however hard she worked, the promised flowers refused to grow. When I wasn't playing football, Knock out Ginger or Releaster 1-2-3 in Eugene Street, i wandered off down town. I travelled far and wide, exploring all the many bombed buildin...g sites which were all over Bristol. I admired, in close up, the beauty of the blue, purple, white and yellow clusters of Buddleia, Campion, Rosebay Willow herb, and bramble bushes; I sat, like a young king, astride piles of bricks and rubble; I closed my eyes and listened to the birdsong and the buzzing of the bees, and then I picked clumps of the colourful weeds, and rushed home to present them to my mother. She always smiled sadly, and kissed the already drooping plants, before neatly arranging them in empty jam jars. They always faded and died inside a few days, but I never stopped trying. I desperately wanted to find Mum the flowers she was so desperately craving.     

            

Comments

  1. Thank you, Michael. You've been keeping us for a long time, waiting for the finished product! Hope it's nearly ready.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Slowly. A computer crash has destroyed a lot of it, but retyping as we speak.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Just a Boy From Bristol

JUST A BOY FROM BRISTOL Chapter One Through the eyes of a child   On the 3rd September 1939 a war started that would change the course of history. It also denied millions of children across the world the opportunity for a normal, happy childhood. I know, because I was one of them. My father had re-enlisted in the Royal Navy as soon as the storm clouds of war had started to gather over Europe. He left my mother to bring up two young children alone, in poverty, and in what was a scary, changing world.  My mother was an incredibly beautiful young woman, but she was emotionally fragile. She was a wild, scatty, free spirited, capricious butterfly, who was constantly fluttering around, unable to settle. In many ways she was totally unsuited to the task in hand, but she was a mother, and she did what mothers do best. She cared for me; she did it well, and I will be eternally grateful to her. Mum, I thank you for teaching me how to live and how to love. I thank you for the journe

The Bristol Blitz - The Good Friday raid

April 11th 1941  It was Good Friday, and Mum went shopping. She came back with some Easter biscuits. We could only afford two, so Mum and Mary had to share one. The biscuit was delicious, and it was my lucky day, because Mum wasn't very hungry, and she gave me most of her half. Father Doyle called in the afternoon. Mum told me to act as if I were still ill. She sat at the top of the bed with me, and told Father Doyle he should keep his distance, as what I had was very infectious. He stood by the door and told us a story about Easter. He told us about the Last Supper and Judas Iscariot. He told us about Pontius Pilate and Barabbas, and then he told us about Jesus Christ. How he was forced to wear a crown of thorns, and how he carried the heavy cross up the hill of Mount Calvary. He told us how Jesus was crucified and died. It was a cracking story and I was right into it. I was waiting anxiously for the happy ending, and I was quite disappointed when Mum interrupted to tell Fath