The Front Step

Sat on the front doorstep watching the tree sparrows flit from Forsythia to Virginia Creeper - noisy yet sociable creatures. Mum and Dad used to sit on their raised front doorstep of a fine evening sharing a small bottle of cider (in my case it's a large glass of wine) Life was quite difficult for them but they enjoyed simple things. My dad was always home at six every evening after work. He was a grinder in a glass factory and mum 'wired up' in a cutlery factory in Sheffield and we lived in a 'works terrace' near Bramall Lane. One night my dad wasn't back by six and Mum stood on the front doorstep, arms folded and waited for him constantly scanning the street. We three kids clutching her skirt. Finally long after the Gaslamp lit up (true) Dad very unsteadily lolloped down the street, swung twice round the Gaslamp and slightly squiffy proceeded into the house whereupon he was rounded upon by Mum. We kids were sent to bed and never knew what was said. It is the only time I remember my dad not being back by six. It reminded me of an Andy Capp cartoon strip. Whenever I sit on the front doorstep I always remember this.