It never seemed to rain in those days. The back river smelled of the sent of Blackthorn and valerian, which grew along the river wall. The air was filled with the sound of blue birds and bees, and also the sound of pigeons cooing in the background, under the twenty five foot high corrugated canopies, over the timber which was piled in a criss cross fashion. This was so that the air could pass through, helping to keep it dry.
Come half past five the workmen would finished and all that was left were the sounds of nature around me. The only concession to civilization was the black cloth belt, which was off an old paisley wrap-around, tied to one of the bushes. There was something about this, which always nauseated me with the thought that one day I would be left alone. I guess it was the memory of the photograph of my grandmother, who died before I was born, where she was wearing such a wrap-around. Maybe some where in my young subconscious mind I had reasoned that if my mother's mother was no more that one day it would be so with my own mother.
However, the surrounding peacefulness soon soothed such feelings and I was one with nature, and at peace with myself. This was my world and I was king. Once the depot was closed for the day, there was no one to intrude in my thoughts or my explorations. I have no memories of predending to be anybody else as a boy. I did'nt need to be, for I was me and I had this world, where I was king, all to myself.
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