I LEARN ADULTS LIE 1956

It's 1956, I am 8. I was, again, looking wistfully in the toyshop window in the local parade of shops opposite Wollaston's Mill with mother on her daily grocery shop. There was a new item - a wonderful flying boat in cream plastic with red propellers, about a foot long (I doubt it flew – it was probably clockwork for the local pond).

“Mummy, can I have that please”

“No Roger – YOU DON'T WANT THAT”

But I knew I did want it, desperately, achingly, from the bottom of my being. She was lying.

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