The England I grew up in no longer exists, some of my earliest memorys are of the London fog or 'smog' as they called it. The winters were cold and we nearly always had snow. I suppose we noticed the weather more because we had no central heating. I made it my job to light the coal fire every morning, it was great fun as we had a gadget known as a gas poker, a poker with fire blazing from holes in it's side. This I poked into the coals and soon had them blazing.
I remember the first time we had to learn some poetry for prep how excited my Father was, I couldn't understand, like so many things I have had to reach my fiftys to comprehend much of my childhood. My Father wrote poetry and published two small collections of his verse. I believe his Mother also wrote Poetry. sadly I have not seen any of her work.
What motivated him to lie?
Tales of friends in the east,
strange bearers of gifts.
A brother hanged.
...
The sunrise early, month of june,
so softly lies the mist upon the ground,
subdued the rays that light this early morn,
over pasture, vale and woodland stream, , , tranquility,
...