Summer 1976

My Favourite Visual Memory 1976

During the thirteenth day of the sweltering month of August underneath a large Horse Chestnut tree, surrounded by red rose bushes in a large garden, of a municipal park, in the North of England stands a young boy. Looking up and outwards to the world, he can't scream and shout in words adults will understand, but he can see. His senses are alert and all consuming, fully and positively engaged with his environment. The cool rush breezes, the starlings screeching, a blend of noises coming from other children skidding on Chopper bikes, the repetitive whack of the football off the Park Keeper's shed, the curious noise of The Damned's New Rose single blasting from the open window of the punk rocker's bedroom, the cumulus nimbus disintegrating as the shapes of the storm clouds disappear above him, the variety of tones and shades, the drifting in and out of focus, the ever changing plays of light on the rain droplets of a rose bud. His tears have ceased now, just like the rain. He makes his way homeward. The sky opens bright with sunshine. A glimpse of a smile returns.