I was nine years old, and a breath of fresh air came among us and put new life into our family. My father named him Gwyn, the same name as his drinking partner.

Gwyn was so full of life, restless with vitality. This particular morning he was shrieking with delight slushing about in the rain. I brought him indoors, and Mam told me to calm him down a bit:

"Come on now Gwyn, sit with me a minute," I said, trying to coax him to sit still. "Here you are, look, Book! Oh, I love doing this, Mam," I said, handing him a book and running my fingers through his golden curls. But Gwyn hated being indoors, and struggled hard to wriggle free from my lap.

"Don't fidget. You've only just come in, boy. Alright then, give me a kiss and you can go out. (I couldn't hold him any longer). Ooh! That was nice. Take it easy now, and don't go far. Just out by yer, mind, or you'll have it. Won't he, Mam?"

"Yes, he will! And mind you keep those dungarees you've got on clean. You're not having another pair on today. You'll come in if you don't. Now give me a kiss... Mmm. Tara. Only in this street, mind!"

As soon as she'd finished speaking, he was gone in a flash. Then, Bang!

"Oh! He will slam that front door, Mam. It's wall-shaking."

"Yes, and do you know, Ronnie, I've watched him. I was outside in our porch, talking to Mrs Evans, when he grabs hold of the front door knocker with both hands, nearly pulls the door shut, leans forward a bit, then all of a sudden, with both feet balancing on the edge of the high front step, bang!  Pulls and knocks himself clean off the step!"

"I think he believes he's shutting us in Mam," I said laughing.

"No. Don't laugh at him Ronnie, or he'll only take more advantage, and we won't find niblo till after dark."

"It's goin' to rain by the looks, Mam," I said, trying to change the subject.

"Oh, don't say that. D'you know what that boy did yesterday? One of the neighbours told me. He was at the top of the street, in his best dungarees, with both feet in the gutter. And-it-was-bucketing-down. Shufflin', he was, like this, (Mam shuffled her feet to demonstrate). He started at the top of our street, and didn't stop till he reached the bottom. Mrs Evans thought it was very funny. I didn't think it funny. What am I going to do with him, Ronnie? Your father doesn't care.

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