Looking through my memorabilia I burst into tears.
Markers of my life in my hands from all those years.
Photographs of me as a baby and my days at school,
And one from a fancy-dress party when I went as a mule.

Birthday cards from my mum and dad with loving kisses.
Anniversary cards and congratulations from my missus.
Sports certificates, a Youth Hostel card and my first pay slip.
A train ticket to Edinburgh when me a Willy did a round trip.

Football programmes from memorable games I’d seen.
A newspaper cutting marking a visit to Liverpool by the Queen.
My exam results on a GCE matriculation board print out.
A bob-a-job week card from the time I was a Boy Scout.

A tape recording taken from the radio of Hold Your Plums.
An obituary from the newspaper in June 2009 – my Mum’s.
Some lesson plans from my teaching practices as a student.
A photo of me skinny dipping in Anglesey – it wasn’t prudent.

Pictures of the family drawn by my kids when they were tots.
Photos of us all on holiday in near and far-flung places – lots.
Tickets to a concert to see the Rolling Stones back in 1971.
A thank you for being an Alter boy from Sister Agnes, the nun.

My head says get rid of my memorabilia but my heart won’t let me.
When I’m gone I hope my kids will talk about it all over a cup of tea.
Maybe something from it all will become a family heirloom.
The rest no doubt will feel the spikey end of a broom.