Beautiful words from Tim Murtha…

tommurtha

It is not a memory it is a photo of a memory. Sometimes they are the same thing as one triggers the other. It is Christmas morning 1954 and I am proudly driving a toy tractor along the path in front of our council house on Bonney Road in Leicester. There is a frown on my face and I do not look happy. Maybe I have already travelled too far from the safety of home. I had no reason to be worried. There in the corner of the photo looking out of the front door is my Mam. Watching from the touchline.

Some years later there she is again standing on the touchline watching me play football. My Mam came to all of our home games and to the important away fixtures. I knew that if I ever looked up from the game she would be there watching me. It…

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