I am still at my book 'The Simple Summer of 76' I am three chapters in and this week I plan to send out this Preface and the first chapter to a few publishers in Liverpool that seem to want tales from back in the day. I don't expect to make money as they don't print lots but I would love to see my work come to life. Anyway it;s the Preface that I think will sell it to them or put them off. So I have reworked it as best I can and would love seem feedback to see if I'm on the right track or not?
Preface
These days when I visit my childhood neighbourhood rather sadly it's normally for a funeral . And while the houses are mostly the same, the streets I knew as a kid have changed beyond all recognition. It is now almost soulless; people seem to have retreated behind their front doors forever. Gone are streets packed with kids playing and mothers talking at the door as a whole host of life went on, from rag and bone men to the bread van and the milk man and the afternoon post.
Now the gardens are paved, people drive their cars right up to their front doors. Kids play on trampolines in their back gardens till they graduate to computers in their bedrooms. Parents and kids alike have hundreds of friends on- line yet may not know the name of the family two doors down. Yet when I was a kid you not only knew the name of everyone in your road you also knew most of their business.
What I don't want to be lost is the memory of communities that were so alive and so awash with people day and night that they almost crackled. So, for my sins I have written a personal account of an episode of my life. It is set on the August Bank Holiday of 1976 and written in the hope that it reflects kindly of a time and a community, that are sadly lost forever.
Now given that I was sixteen at the time, having left school with an O' Level in woodwork and a certificate for recovering a rubber brick from the bottom of a swimming pool in my pyjamas. You could be forgiven for thinking at this point that these are hardly going to be the accounts of a 'Seasoned Observer'.
That being the case, all I can offer up by way of reassurance is to present to you my own form of credentials and let you be the judge of what you're getting into.
By the age of five I was already known as 'Auld Man Dan'. A nickname given by bemused adults after I had been asking or answering questions way past my age range.
At the age of nine people my nans age would often say "He's been here before" On the surface a joke about reincarnation, issued however in the same tone that I suspect started the Salem Witch Trails.
Once I reached fourteen, I was given the ultimate accolade after becoming widely known as somebody who 'Doesn't miss a trick'. Which is a Scouse way of issuing a compliment to one person while embedding in it a note of caution to all others.
So, as you can see, I am more than qualified to comment on events.
I have always seen the small that makes the big, for me it's the essence of a story. As such what Ihave on offer is a simple yet insightful look into both the events and individuals from a period, that I believe was similar in a degree to the 'Spirit of the Blitz'. A time when people banded together in some instances yet were never further apart in others.
Being my own personal memoirs, they are set in a working- class Liverpool council house that is preparing to throw a family party that would draw in far flung relatives and rekindle old issues both inside and outside our home. A sort of Downton Abbey for near do wells.
While poignant at times, my observations are noted more in humour than seriousness as I have never been a fan of pathos by proxy. Life's hard enough for most as it is, and besides history is at its best when it's also a means of escapism.
The summer of 1976 is the ideal example, because despite its hardships it remains for many one of their fondest memories. So much so that this period has also become part of our folklore and with good reason.
