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A Shout From The Attic: Venturing Out

Ronnie Bray recalls his first venturings into the big wide world.

My earliest perambulations were into town in company with mother, René, and our huge round brown shopping basket that could fit half a dozen two pound loaves or a small boy who liked to curl up in safe places.

Sadly, like all infant sizing, the older I grew the smaller the basket appeared so that my strong memory of climbing inside it seemed in adolescence to be mere wish fulfilment, like living in a doll’s house. But in such fellowship as my mother and sister began the expansion of my confined setting as from the safety of the end of mother’s arm I explored the world about me, slowly pushing outwards the limits of my circumscribed bubble.

When I was too young to walk, we caught the bus at the stop outside the triangular house where Fitzwilliam Street Joined into Trinity Street where my teacher Mr Llewellyn lived in his later years. We always arrived at the stop in good time and that meant a short wait.

My natural impatience at waiting was broken somewhat by pressing an ear against the hollow steel green-painted pole that, in company with similar of its fellows placed at regular intervals both sides of the road, held the rigging for the trolley bus wires and listening for the loudening swish of the ducks on the copper line that told of the vehicle’s approach before it became visible, a trick I learned from the Indians, or would have done, had I known any.

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