Way back in the day I read a copy of Shirley Jackson's Haunting Of Hill House. Back then I was too young and too thinly read to appreciate a lot of what was going on in that mecurial novel but I had been mesmerised by its introduction and the glimpses I had caught of the film. It was this very edition I read, with the demonic mad face staring out at the reader from the cover. This was a tatty old copy I rescued from a recycling bag and wanted to share what for me was a formative read.
My da used to have an old shed and I used to climb up onto the flat roof and lay in the middle where no one could see me or knew I was there. Although there was a bit of a giveaway, cause my da used black tar to waterproof the covering and on a hot day it would melt and become sticky. I would get it in my hair, on my clothes and even embedded in my elbows as I would lay reading. But it was a great place to read ands I liked the idea of having a cool, sometimes, place to do just that.Mostly cause I thought it was a secret place and no one could see me. Or so I thought.
Recently I was sent this picture. taken from the roof of the Old Flax Street Mill which was an army barracks during the troubles. This is a view down the gun sight of a soldier panning over the alley at the back of Etna Drive and right there is the roof of my da's shed.
I wonder if he ever thought to himself: " We got ourselves a reader,here."
