Elysium

All the significant memories of my early childhood revolve around my father; as if I had only related to my mother through him. I am now certain that they loved one another and this is confirmed by a particular memory. The summer before he died, we holidayed in England and stayed in a house on the outskirts of London; it had a large garden with plum trees, a hen house, several cats and a tricycle. The weather was hot and the air alive with wasps which my father attempted to kill by hanging jam traps from the trees. While my mother busied herself in the garden my father took me for walks in the surrounding countryside. We searched the local ponds for frogs; he showed me how to make a bow and taught me the rudiments of boxing. It was obvious that my parents were very happy together that summer, perhaps because my father had decided to leave Scotland and apply for a job in London. Whatever the reason, their happiness spilled over onto me giving me a feeling of deep contentment. When night came, no sooner had my head touched the pillow than it was already morning with all the bright adventures of a new day ahead.