The Attic

Kent House, East Cowes, Isle of Wight, 1956

Many of the dusty cold rooms in the attic were empty, although some, containing boxes of spilled and pillaged storage were still reasonably clean but most were damp and sordid with peeling yellow walls. These rooms, long since abandoned, were once, the living quarters occupied by the household retainers of Kent House ranging from housekeeper to scullery maid. The smell of musk and dampening mildewed paper intensified my every audible heartbeat as I crept stepping in and out of time with my wildest nightmares and worst imaginings.

The deep indigo light beyond was my goal as I tremulously inched toward the small garret window that would open and lead me out and up onto the roof where sweet dark sky and icy stars awaited accompanied by the glistening rain. How I longed to be out once more into that fresh tingle that joyous midnight air to see and hear the clatter of the shipyards night shift at the mouth of river Medina and the distant mainland’s Fawley flame lighting and brighting the edge of night all along the Calshot Spit like a gigantic Christmas candle, reminders of the real-world. A safe world, where no bogey man could exist and boys would live safely for ever to fight another day.