Sunday Scribblings: Earliest memory
It was a grey, damp, winter day in the Welsh Valleys. Too cold to go play on the swings in the park or put my tiny green wellies on and splash about in puddles.
Dad was downstairs reading the paper and Mam was upstairs hoovering. I was entertaining myself with crayons and paper. I’m not sure what I was drawing, but cows and ballerinas and were my favourite subjects circa 1979.
Bubbling with excitement about my latest creation, I ran up the stairs to show Mam my drawing. I stood on the top stair springing up and down and wafting my multicoloured artwork around.
I took a step backwards, forgetting where I was standing. The ground wasn’t there, there was only stairs. Stairs which I tumbled down one at a time. Head over heels, hair over toes, little blonde bob over little red shoes. My mother screamed, my dad came running to the bottom of the stairs. As I bounced off the bottom step, he scooped me up in his Popeye arms and carried me over to the brown cord sofa.
The next thing I remember is being on the sofa, tears wiped away, bruises kissed better, watching Tom and Jerry on the telly, Little Ted at my side, in fleecy clean pyjamas that smelt of Mam’s washing, feeling safe and warm and loved.
Read more Sunday Scribblings here.