Publisher's Synopsis
Born in 1946 in South Yorkshire, the son of a steelworker. This is my life. The life of a young Tyke. The 50s and 60s are often referred too as the "Good Old Days". I beg to differ. A more appropriate title I think would be "The Days When People Cared".After loosing my memory following a brain injury at the age of 67, and then being told by the surgeon, that my memory may never fully return, was a shock. The saying " you never know what you had till its gone", was coming true, and I had to do something about it. What follows is the result of some soul searching on my part and lots of encouragement from family and friends.I make no apology for the fact that the book, and the stories within it, are written in a Yorkshire dialect. That's because its my memory that's recalling the events and its my story. So that's how it is.Don't panic if tha not from Yorkshire tha can still read the book, cos the book comes wi INSTRUCTIONS. Yes D.I.T.Y. Do It Thisen Yorkshire. Set in the 50s and 60s in an world that kids of today would barley recognise. A time before the intervention of Health and Safety, Political Correctness, Sexual Equalities Act, Equal Opportunities, Etc. Etc. When, if you had something to say to somebody you said it, and the worst reply you could get was a punch on the nose.Unlike the kids of today who are chained to a gadget or a gismo, we actually played outside, and had to be dragged in by the scruff of the neck, screaming and kicking, because it had gone dark outside. Now you don't see that today, quite the opposite.It was when the aspirations of boys was to become a Train Driver and girls to become a Nurse. None of the "I want to be famous rubbish, instilled in the kids of today. Re live "The Club Trip" in the section Pop, Crisps and Sick Bags, or warit wer like to gu to the Tanner Rush at The Cinema. An what appened when a fell inta the most polluted river in Europe an nearly drownd. Don't expect to read owt abart sport cos a wer rubbish at sport. Bura wer good at hiddy and swimmin. A dare not tell yer about the rope swing and the double decker bus it wer to scary so a left it art. Do not miss the occasional feyts av ad. "If you are not yet fully conversant with the Yorkshire lingo, a feyt refers to a fight". Oh! An wait till yer read abart Kylie, that's norer real name. I ad to change it cos she's gora lot o brothers. Just a gentle reminder. You should never ask a man where he comes from. If he's from Yorkshire he will have already told you . If he's not from Yorkshire, he will be to embarrassed to answer the question. Please feel free to have a good old laugh at my expense, and experiences. You will be offered a full refund if you don't manage a laugh. But, and it's a big but. You will have to feyt mi forit.John Brogan aka The Canklow Kid
