This entry was posted on February 11, 2011 at 1:50 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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Nottingham is the adopted home of my son and his new family, and he strolled those very parks in your marvelous photographs. While I was at Sheffield uni I knew a Maggie – umm, connections.
Thank you for your comments Geoff and Damyanti. I wish I could go there more often but not possible.
I still love that park. Revisiting brings back such memories – my dad stung on his lip by a bee — nasty. My brother falling in the lake and his only suit shrinking on him, My mum being accused by my dad of trying to push his wheelchair in the lake – with him in it. My friend and I while boating battling with male students in another boat – with my oar! And so I could go on…
Wrinkly Writers 
February 11, 2011 at 2:22 pm |
Nottingham is the adopted home of my son and his new family, and he strolled those very parks in your marvelous photographs. While I was at Sheffield uni I knew a Maggie – umm, connections.
Well done on the poem.
February 13, 2011 at 12:22 am |
I love the pics and your descriptions of your growing into adulthood. They’re always such confusing times.
February 13, 2011 at 7:24 am |
Thank you for your comments Geoff and Damyanti. I wish I could go there more often but not possible.
I still love that park. Revisiting brings back such memories – my dad stung on his lip by a bee — nasty. My brother falling in the lake and his only suit shrinking on him, My mum being accused by my dad of trying to push his wheelchair in the lake – with him in it. My friend and I while boating battling with male students in another boat – with my oar! And so I could go on…
February 14, 2011 at 2:05 am |
Go back into the memories if you can, Gladys. We could make the fascinating journey with you.