Papa Georgio by Annie Murray Page A

ice crystals and rocks, the jet streams and oceans and all the way home.
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    (I’ve decided if I use the back of this book too I can write some things just for me, that I don’t have to show to Mum.)
    THINGS I REMEMBER ABOUT DAD
    He likes boiled carrots and Guinness (not together) and steak and kidney pie
    He likes dogs – his favourite dog is Uncle Vin’s black Labrador, Musket
    He likes watching Tom and Jerry and Dad’s Army and On the Buses and laughing
    He cheers when Sheffield Wednesday win the football and says things’ll get better for them one day
    He gets cross when you make him jump or muddle up his climbing gear
    He hates Brussels sprouts and beetroot and people who drop litter and loud people (like Mr Ainsley) He doesn’t like teachers much
    When he laughs his shoulders go up and down and his beard smiles too
    He loves mountains and cuddles and Crunchies
    And Mum
    And me :-(
    (I won’t know if Charlotte’s written to me ‘til we get to Venice. I wish we were there now. Still haven’t seen Fizz all the way through France even though Grandpa thought he did.)

II.
    Grandpa had quite a lot of wine at suppertime (another ‘Damned Good Drink’), and when he poured his third glass, Brenda said,
    ‘I think you’ve had enough dear, haven’t you?’
    The tip of his nose had gone a tell-tale pink.
    We had a stew for supper. There were mosquitoes buzzing about in the caravan, whining like tiny aeroplanes. Afterwards Brenda asked if we were going to play cards but Grandpa looked at me.
    ‘I think it’s time we went off for one of Our Adventures, don’t you?’ And he winked.
    Grandpa always seemed to want adventures when he’d had some wine.
    ‘You watch what you get up to,’ Brenda said as we went out.
    When we were walking across the field with our torch, something really spooky happened. On the left was the toilet block – three toilets for men and women to share. They were the usual stand-up sort and we’d used them once or twice. But as we walked past we heard them flushing, whoosh , sploosh one after another. And there was nobody else there!
    ‘Grandpa…’ I stopped and listened. Whoosh! … And then a bit later Whoosh!
    ‘Gracious me,’ Grandpa chuckled, which melted the scary icicles on my spine a bit, until he added, ‘It’s the ghost of Jerry Bundler!’
    ‘Who’s he?’
    ‘Oh – a Damn Good Yarn from my boyhood. Ghosts and so on.’
    This didn’t help much. Who was flushing those toilets??!
    Grandpa took my hand which made me feel better. We went out along the road towards a little town, walking uphill. There were railings on the right and we were looking down on houses with their lights twinkling. There were a few street lights, rather feeble and far apart. Every so often a dog would start barking. Further along, we found ourselves walking beside a wall too high to see over and soon, in the light of one of the lamps, we saw tall iron gates.
    ‘Ah, I know what this is,’ Grandpa said. ‘This is the local cemetery. Very interesting, these places are.’
    He let go of my hand and tried the handle of the gate but there was a chain and a big padlock.
    Then he gave me a naughty look.
    ‘Shall we go in anyway?’
    ‘But it’s locked. We’re not really supposed to, are we?’
    ‘Ah well,’ Grandpa said breezily, ‘You can’t go through life worrying about that sort of thing. Come along now – you put your foot up here, that’s a girl, catch a hold and I’ll give you a leg up.’
    ‘Are you sure about this, Grandpa?’ I said, as he gave me a shove from behind.
    ‘Yes, yes…’ Grandpa was in no mood to be thwarted. ‘Come along.’
    He helped hoist me up so I was standing with my foot half way up the gate and I could climb up the rest. It wasn’t that difficult as there were bars to put your feet on, only it was swinging about and making clanking noises that sounded terribly loud. I sat at the top swaying, between two curly bits of iron, with one leg each