PART ONE 1932-51 

1 

flags and bright funnels of ships 
walking with my mother over the Seven Bridges 
and being carried home too tired 
frightened of the siren on the ferryboat 
or running down the platform on the Underground 
being taken over the river to see the big shops at Christmas 
the road up the hill from the noisy dockyard 
and the nasty smell from the tannery you didn't like going past 
steep road that made your legs tired 
up the hill from the Co-op the sweetshop the blue-and-white-tiled pub
Grandad's allotment on the lefthand side 
behind the railings curved at the top 
cobblestone path up the middle to the park 
orderly rows of bean canes    a fire burning    sweetpeas tied up on strings
up to Our House 
echoing flagyard entry between the two rows of houses 
brick buttresses like lumps of cheese against the backyard walls  
your feet clang and echo on the flags as you run the last few yards 
pulling your woolly gloves off 
shouting to show Grandad what you've just been bought 
him at the door tall like the firtree in the park 
darkblue suit gleaming black boots shiny silver watch chain 
striped shirt no collar on but always a collarstud 
heavy grey curled moustache that tickles when he picks you up to kiss you
sometimes shouting angry frightening you 
till you see the laughter in his countryman's blue eyes 

2 

round redbrick doorway 
yellow soapstone step cleaned twice a week 
rich darkred linopattern in the polished lobby 
front room with lace runners and a piano that you only go in on Sundays
or when someone comes to tea 
Uncle Bill asleep in his chair coming in smelling of beer and horses 
limping with the funny leg he got in the war 
Grandma always in a flowered apron 
the big green-and-red parrot frightening you with his sudden screeches 
the two little round enamelled houses on either side of the fireplace 
big turquoise flowered vase in the middle 
the grate shining blackleaded cooking smell from the oven next to it 

big black sooty kettle singing on the hob 
fireirons in the hearth 
foghorns and hooters 
looking out of the kitchen window 
seeing the boats on the bright river 
and the cranes from the dockyards

3 

coming back the taxidriver doesn't know where the street is 
the allotments at the foot of the hill 
gone now 
great gaunt terraces of flats 
scarred with graffiti 
instead 
the redbrick houses tiny falling apart 
the whitewashed backyard 
where you could smell lily of the valley through the privet hedge round the tiny garden 
on your way to the lavatory at the end 
empty dirty overgrown now 
backdoor banging in the wind 
grandmother grandfather both dead in hospital 
one windowpane broken dirty lace curtain flapping 
the funny little flights of steps 
the secret passages in the park 
pink sandstone steps overhung with trees up the side of the hill
overgrown or demolished 
the big seacaptain's house where I used to go for a present every Christmas 
forgotten 
remembering 
lying in bed 
in the dark crying listening to my mother and father argue 
wind banging a shutter 
indoors somewhere 
dead eyes looking out from flyblown photographs 
empty mirrors reflecting the silence 

from Selected and Unpublished Poems, LUP 2007
(first published by Jonathan Cape, 1971)