So me and sis are little kids and we write poetry. I remember my mum telling me this story and I also still have the cuttings of our poems from the Yorkshire Post. I don’t actually remember writing poetry, ever, but clearly I did. Sis got a book of her poetry published years later but that’s another story.
Then the phone calls came. From the kiddy fiddler in the making. Telling my mum not only what he’d like to do but what he had done. Of course he hadn’t but it must have been extremely worrying for my parents.
They stopped printing ages, names and addresses in the paper after that.
I have a box of aged and smelling papers but I cannot find the above cutting, though I can see it in my minds eye. It is somewhere. I did however find some poetry by sis printed in our school mag when she was 10 and a dreadful little story about visiting Skipton by me. It’s also gratifying to know that in 1975 I won the junior art cup. Bizarre. My recollections of that time have nothing to do with art or poetry.