Image: Family photo outside 90 Parker Street, Preston. 1959. With thanks to my sister Hilary for the photo.

MEMORY BOX

Our faded photographs fill the minds memory box, old box brownie black and white records when negatives were processed at Boots and half of them didn’t come out. Today they are stored in a cloud somewhere, destined to go the way of floppy discs, never to be seen again. We remember days forever sunny with ice cream cones and striped deck chairs, when Corona was a drink like Dandelion and Burdock, not dangerous at all except to your teeth.

Here’s a little poem about the street that I grew up in.

90 Parker Street, Preston Lancs,

Accrington red brick, Co-op stamps,

Headscarves, braces, big black prams,

Black and white telly, bread and jam,

Two up, two down, dogs and cats,

Outside toilets, dirty backs,

Big Nanna, Little Nanna, corner shop,

Homemade Lancashire hot pot,

Sunday wireless, Songs of Praise,

London calling, tunes you know,

Forces favorites, the Goon Show.

Parlour piano, open fires,

Polished silver, spinning jennies,

pennies, farthings, ship halfpennies,

five bob, ten bob, half a crown,

shirts are white, boots are brown.

plastic macs, best be clever,

buy them on the never never.