Memories

Dee believed, as she continued to write her true story down, that thousands of people would continue to pocket beautiful memories about their treasured days at nearby Wicksteeds Park. The minature train, that still whistled and cluncked as it trundled on narrow gauge lines. Passing the boating lake,where many moons and stars ago, she'd dropped her own oar in the lake. Dee's brother, thirteen months younger than her, methodically stroking it back over the boating lake with his oar. She'd sat there with her soggy cardigan sleeve, damp knickers and dress giggling when really in truth sorry would have been a wiser thing to do!

The Swans in the lake and ducks had sailed by in the adjoining lake. Under the arched bridge whilst exploring families strolled over to visit the aviary, where beautiful colours swept through the warm air and returned to the branch or onto the floor to peck on the seeds still there.

The red door, into the animal zoo had long since gone, the lakes and the grounds remained to beckon folk in when Easter egg wrappers lay discarded silvery sheens for the recycling van to take away. The dust-man, now a recyling employee, no longer heavy dustbins on weakening backs but boxes of various colours; dependant on the area you lived in of course!

There were new rides where little ones sat, strapped next to the carer for that day, maybe a willing uncle,auntie,gran,gran-dad who enjoyed being leader for the day whilst back home mum/dad rolled over in bed for just a few more minutes of peace.
Then she shought, as Dee wandered with her own little grand-daughter, how sometime before in her brain came the memory of the water-chute where people still followed the leader up the metal stairs to ride in the body of something that resembled a huge metal pram where squeals of delight shattered the peace of the once still air. Then the metal threads pulled back that same boat up to the top of its tracks for everyone to have a repeat go; screaming harder and longer then hugging each other before taking this memory home.

How daft of me to say to you now dad, that you could have stopped the train that continued from Kettering, a few miles away from Wicksteeds, and blow it away in any other destination other than where he stopped at Wellingborough Station. That you see was where I had stood with our blind lovely mum and my brothers who for this other blind man with his utter control and anger. We innocently and softly waited on that cold miserable day decades ago.

How, Dee wondered with her beautiful tear stained eyes, could this still heappen. Instead of villifying the poor/needy why not turn your attentions to the drugs and the drink you pay to the abuser instead of the family; Is it because perhaps it's the easiest thing for you to do?