Mr. Seward's Donkeys

I was in the kitchen when my Dad shouted to me to come and see Mr. Seward's donkeys. I remember rushing into the living room and pressing my face against the glass, straining to see them going past.

"You've just missed them" he said. "If you rush outside you should still see them going up the lane". I did just that, only to be disappointed yet again. Crestfallen, I went back into the house where my Dad went on to tell me how impressive the donkeys were and how Mr. Seward would probably have let me ride one if only I'd been a bit quicker.

This is one of my earliest memories of my Dad's mischievous sense of humour - not that I realised then that he was having me on. It was not an isolated incident either; I must have looked for those bloody donkeys on a weekly basis from the age of about four until it suddenly clicked when I was about nine years old.

Looking back, what kept up the charade was the way that Dad constantly added to and refined the basic story. One week it would be that the donkeys were on their holidays from Skegness or Bridlington; another week it was that Mr. Seward was setting up a business giving donkey rides from Locko Brook up to Pilsley Wood and back.

I remember one day, seeing Mr Seward stood at the top of the lane watching the world go by. He was probably about 80 years old at this time. He was a large man with a ruddy complexion like something out of an old propaganda poster from the last war; something like "Dig For Victory". Anyway, I took it upon myself to befriend him in the hope of getting a ride on one of those donkeys.

I started to talk about the weather and then casually dropped the subject of donkeys into the conversation (well, as casually as you can when you're 8 or 9 years old). He just looked at me; he didn't say a word. I tried again, saying something about it would soon be time for them to go to the beach. He still didn't say anything; it was if I wasn't there. I didn't know whether to be angry or to cry. In the end, I just turned and walked away; after about 2 or 3 steps I started running and I didn't stop until I got home.

After that I would never walk up the lane if Mr. Seward was standing there. I remember being almost happy when I heard that he'd died because it meant that I was free to go wherever I wanted again. I never did tell my Dad about it, I think I somehow thought it was all my fault. I wish I had done now, I know that he'd have come up with another story to explain it all away.