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Across the lane in a former shop painted green lived an old seaman named Vic. After his wife Gladys died, he used to sit in the sun on a box by the side of his house, and chat to us as we passed by. He was a lovely fellow, but seemed to pine away after Gladys died, and sadly soon died himself before I really got to know him. The old shop was sold. Before it was replaced by a two-storey townhouse, I souvenired this memory of him from his back gate. It was his ‘nameplate’, salvaged from a Victa mower
and roughly painted blue-green. |