June and I were the youngest in the home, so we were the first to
be sent to bed. We shared the attic room, the little girls’ room as it
was always called. Usually, four children slept in there. But, with
only the two of us sharing, we had plenty of room. I hated going to
bed early when the evening sun shone. When I heard the sounds of
children laughing and playing in the run-down allotments on the
other side of the wall, it felt more like a punishment. The children
lived in the houses surrounding the home. I watched them from
my bedroom window dressed in my pyjamas. They played and ran
across the field, through weeds where strawberries and all kinds of
vegetables once grew. I longed to be down there with them, to feel
their happiness and freedom.

Sometimes, I almost expected to see the old man in the black
baggy jacket and bonnet leading his lovely big Clydesdale horse
along the narrow path separating the allotment plots from the
wall of the home. I used to wait for him every day, after the rest of
the children came home from school. One of the older girls had to
stay with me because I was too young to be out there on my own.