The smell of Tar

Children playing in Manchester 1971 — Flashbak

It was the hot summer of 1959. I was eight years old with a brutalist hair cut and wearing dirty grey shorts. It was 7.30 pm and still bright. I was sitting on the kerb of my road (there were not many cars then, everyone had a bike) playing with sticks and talking. To my immediate right, was Neil, always scruffy, and up for anything: he was a champion swearer and was soon to be whisked off to Australia, part of those poor emigrants, the £10 Poms, who…

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John E Marks

John E Marks

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I will try to express myself in some mode of life or art as freely as I can and as wholly as I can