Sixties Childhood

claire-fuller-8

Sixties Childhood

I’m old enough to remember those callers to the house who have now disappeared – the knife-sharpening man, the fizzy-pop man. Mostly men it seems, though once a traveller-woman persuaded my mother to part with a lovely summer dress.

After the brooms-and-mops man had called my mother would give me the sweet little sample tins of polish and I’d buff up the miniature piano in my dolls house.

Oddly the sitting-room in my doll’s house– polished piano, too many pictures on the walls and a large clock, made out of an old watch– very much resembled my real sitting-room today.

M J Lewis 2016

Welcome to all who visit Friday Fiction and a particular thanks to those who stay to read and comment. Thanks as ever to our host, the writer and artist Rochelle and also to the Friday Fiction regular and writer, Claire Fuller who supplies the photo this week.

(Please note all Friday Fiction photos are copyright and should only be posted in conjunction with Friday Fiction or by permission of the photographer.)

img_2782

In Search of Lost Mornings

bay-windows

In Search of Lost Mornings

Often then I’d wait at the bay window, nodding with fatigue, as the soft slow light of dawn filled the street. Trees – Horse Chestnut, I think – between soot-blackened brick; pigeons dozing on sills. Then – joy! – a distant figure, the familiar lilt of his walk, distinct even at  this time of day. My father’s muffled tread on the stairs, key in the lock.

My mother calls – Who’s there?

– Just me, m’dear.

Then a wink for me – Alright Sprout? – and scuttle back to bed, my secret safe.

And all the long years following, regretting that easy melding of souls.

MJ Lewis ©2015

Sometimes my computer annoys me and sometimes it amuses me – a normal working relationship then. This week when writing a comment about Proust’s sentences – it’s what the internet is for, and cats of course – my bad typing of Proust was creatively corrected to Sprout. Well it amused me!

PS I have in no way attempted to imitate Sprout’s – sorry Proust’s – prose style, but I will save the possibility of a 100-word one-sentence FF for another time. Could be fun to try.

Thanks as always to our host Rochelle (this week also for the evocative photo) and to all who visit.

Many more tales (wise, weird and wonderful, and sometimes all three) here.