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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Dad had threatened for some time, to reclaim the land behind the shed, where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead of being easy to be shifted, blackberries, docks and thistles grow, entwining history of ours… and you know we didn’t know. Mum cracked the whip one Sunday, handing out the different tools for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules. We weren’t to stop until the rubbish, had been cleared and left to show a barren space to be landscaped… and you know we didn’t know. Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray. First we had to slash blackberries, to open up a pathway. Old fencing wire and bent droppers, we pulled and tugged. The work was slow. Plus bits of motors, old oil filters… and still we didn’t know. The ‘Old Man’ knocked a stump out I can’t remember being a tree, it disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see. Plastic pots and old fuel drums, onto the tray we heave and throw. Just on half the plots been cleaned up now… and still we didn’t know. A concrete trough and a mattress spring, mesh from an old birdcage. A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage. Sardine tins, a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won’t mow, now there’s just one corner left to clean… and still we didn’t know. A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go. One by one we dragged the rusting sheets… and still we didn’t know. Dad picked up the final sheet, and then he quickly threw it down again. His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook… we ‘bloody-well’ knew then.
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