Living Life Backwards
Over the last few weeks, as I’ve been sorting in preparation for the move, I’ve come across items belonging to, or given to me by my parents, grandparents and one very special book, given to me by great grandad. I remember him as a huge man, very tall and upright with a scratchy suit, but when you are four, I suppose most people seem big. He lived at the top of nanny and grandad’s road, in Harborne, just past the Chad Valley toy factory. I was fascinated by the pigeons he kept in the backyard and just a little afraid. There were such a lot of them, shuffling about importantly, and staring at me through the mesh—I can hear the soft cooing as I write this. I remember how neat and clean they were, silky to the touch and so much smaller than the big fat birds that you see strutting and swooping around town centres now. I have boxes and boxes of photos, letters and cards. The letters go back to the days of my childhood penfriends. I stopped sorting briefly, to reread the lo...