On leaving the Gibraltar Senior Citizens Social Club the temptation to keep walking straight on to Alameda (because that’s the way I was facing) was almost overpowering; I had a real need to spend some time there just to sit quietly and reflect but I knew my travelling companions also wanted to make a visit and so decided to leave it till tomorrow. Tomorrow (I thought) we could all visit the Gardens and take some photos but then (I decided) I would still make a final visit on my own before leaving because I was starting to become really aware that it was nearly time to leave and heaven only knew when I would be able to come back.

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As a child (in care) if I ever went anywhere that I really liked I would often find myself picking up a pebble from the place to take a piece of it home; or I’d scratch my initial on a wall to leave a piece of me behind. Now as an adult I’m absolutely no different, I still do those things and so yes I do have a pebble I picked up on my Gibraltar walkabouts and my initial is indeed scratched in a few places only I know. Staying in touch with my own inner child has always been very important to me not only to help me understand myself but also to understand children and young people I work with in my day job. 

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Apologies in advance for diversifying but just thinking about that reminds me of an anecdote I’d like to share from when I lived in India (2007-2009) and relates to a little girl of about six years old. 

Near where we lived was a school in (what was known as) a slum area, or poor area, which Carol and I supported in providing resources and raising funds. Quite often at the end of term I would take my guitar in and have a sing-song with the children as music is known to support language development and it was something they really enjoyed and looked forward to. 

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(Performing for the children in India 2008)

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After one of these events I said my goodbyes and drove the mile or so home, parking the car outside our house before going through the gate. After going through the gate I looked back at the car and noticed a name had been scratched into the metal in Hindi. The car was a brand new black Suzuki Zen and so you can only imagine the emotions going though me, furiously angry doesn’t even come close. I immediately phoned the school who (outraged) asked me to spell out the name on the car. The Head immediately recognised the name and asked me to return to the school which I duly did.

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When I arrived at the school I was ushered into the Heads office where a very small child stood among several teachers, head down, shame faced.

“She loved the sing song so much that she didn’t want you to leave” said the Head. “She thought by carving her name on your car she would go with you or that you would come back. We don’t understand this but she says she’s very sorry and waiting to be punished”. 

Any anger that Carol or I felt just evaporated away right there and then replaced only by massive lumps in the throat. The staff may not have understood the child’s actions but I certainly did and I’m fairly sure Carol did too.

“I understand” I said “And she knows she has done wrong and feels very ashamed so please don’t punish her but do tell her there will be many more sing songs to come yet”.

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A reader recently said she would miss me and my writings when I finish my memoir. For what it’s worth (as I near the finishing line) I know how she feels because I feel the same way. When I go some of you go with me and some of me stays with you X 

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