I took a walk down to Hartington Road this morning, to sit on the wall where he sat most days, passing the time, outside number 18. There were still cigarette butts down the back of the wall, the wall where I spent part of my summers kicking my feet and eating ice cream and listening to him laugh. I never understood why there was a traffic cone and a milk crate behind the wall, but they had been there as long as I can remember, and are still there today. I walked up to the door, and a trader from down the road asked me how John was. We sat on that wall and talked about him for a while. He said he was a very nice man. I laughed and said that he had obviously never been on his bad side! We talked a while. These crudely taken snaps probably mean nothing to the average subscriber of my blog, but to me, they are laden with childhood memories, laughter, and heavy sadness. What becomes of the Marine Villas Guest Houses now, I do not know.
Rest In Peace, Grandad.
Ms Jack Monroe. All rights reserved.