Resting my aching legs on a bench in the square, I look at the solitary old lady opposite. What are her memories or is she already starting to forget? If I stayed in England, would I be her one day?I look at the little boy scaring the pigeons and remember.
When I was back in Birkenhead on visits, mum used to bring Kerem here as a toddler in his pushchair. They`d feed the pigeons and he would laugh ecstatically at the ensuing squawking and fluttering.
Years later, he would wheel her down to the same place. He loved her. She loved him completely and unconditionally and I was so thankful for that.
Nothing much has changed since then, except now, you`re not allowed to feed the pigeons-and my mother died.
