Our four-bodied family returned to England from Egypt when i was four years old. i have no memory of my father - who was always carrying me - up until this point in time. Apparently, he was always "rescuing me from my baby tears and fears," and the trials of prams and crabs...orchards and sandy beaches. He did not think i should be left to cry.
I remember we are staying with my mother's sister and her husband, in a small bungalow called "PENSELWOOD" on the Burseldon Road in Southampton, where the honeysuckle grew at the front door... and where the coffee-grounds were emptied ritually at its roots each day.
I think my brother and i slept on the floor in the front-room.
I remember my brother and i going into the bedroom occupied by our parents. Our father is the only one in there - lying on the bed. We clamber onto the bed and into his arms. One on either side.
I recall warmth and the sweet smell of sweat.
I remember wetness from his skin to mine as i nestle close to him.