Portswood, trams, tin churches, a laundry and some research

Walter Dowling was a tram driver. He was also Commando’s grandfather. In our attic, there was a wooden box with some of his prized possessions, including his war medals, photographs, postcards, and a tiny diary. During the spring of 2021, I’d been working on a story that involved trams, and Commando thought some things in the box might give me inspiration. The diary was especially poignant. Walter wrote little, but it covered the period when he had malaria and was about to be leaving the army after seven years. It was also when he first met Violet, Commando’s grandmother. He may have been a man of few words, but the words he wrote about her showed how deeply he had loved her. They brought me to tears.

Continue reading Portswood, trams, tin churches, a laundry and some research

Counting chickens

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12 October 2016

When my street view hunting turned up what looked very much like another boundary stone, albeit half hidden behind a wheelie bin, CJ and I were itching to go and see it for real.
“It might not actually be a stone,” I said as we set out along the river this morning. “We shouldn’t count our chickens before they’re hatched.”
Even so, there was a thrill of anticipation in both of us, if it was a stone, it was one that no one else had found. It felt like a very big thing and we couldn’t help getting excited.  Continue reading Counting chickens

Odd things in odd places

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2 March 2016

March started with torrential rain. Today was supposed to be the driest day of the week so I thought I’d head to Portswood for my newspaper and then on towards the Sports Centre for a bit more boundary stone hunting. Typically, I’d hardly left the house when the rain began to come down. It was icy cold and wind buffeted it behind my glasses so my eyelashes sparkled with droplets at with every blink. Briefly I thought about turning back but talked myself out of it. Surely it was just a very heavy shower? Continue reading Odd things in odd places