‘We had no exposure to uncles or aunts
my dad’s only friends were his God and his plants.’
As I read this aloud from the page of my book
on stage at the Leeds City Varieties
I felt the need to vary.
For my lines were contrary to the truth.
‘My dad’s only friends were his God and his plants
… and The Petleys,’ I added.
And I’d swear I heard a grateful sigh
from somewhere in that Yorkshire night
as I put to right that easy lie,
doing justice to that other mum and dad
so loved by my own
whom Mum and Dad, in turn, were loved by:
David and Freda Petley.
When David was courting Freda, he came to pick
her up, with his car heated up, by a brick.
And the two of them warmed my Mum and Dad through to the quick.
To the soul.
To the gearstick.