My handsome father loved books, sharply-tailored suits and polished black shoes. He wrote poetry and daydreamed in between working so very hard. Dad had a painful young life – father suddenly dead after being run over by a cane train and bleeding to death from two severed legs. His mother – by all accounts a lovely, but frail woman, left with two young sons – lay dead in her bed for two days before a relative thought to look and found my dad, age seven at her side, waiting for her to wake up. My brilliant, gentle, sensitive dad, farmed out to relatives in the country who didn’t believe in education and used him as a child labourer. He managed to escape abuse and…
Categories: Family
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