The Pocket Watch Part Twenty Three

Part Twenty Three? Yes, it has been a long story. And you have missed some parts. Bad luck.

You've missed the part where Sam kept the pocket watch for ages in a drawer. He didn't need it, you see. He'd acquired a much more high tech watch in the Navy, and my dad had one the same.

You've missed the part where my dad got married to my mum and they went to live in Manchester, and the part where I was born.

You've missed the part where I caught whooping cough several years in a row. Cough, cough! I watched my mum and dad gardening on long summer evenings through my bedroom window, coughing.

(What pathos! But wait, surely it was winter?

Oh yes, cough cough. I don't remember it perfectly, you know.)

You've missed the day dad and mum decided to emigrate to Australia, because they thought it would be warmer. And the day they told dad's family the news. Och! they said. Ye canny!

(You made that up!

What?

Och ye canny!

Alright, I made it up. I don't know what they said. But please don't interrupt, I'm nearly done.)

And now, you've even missed the part where Sam decided to give his dad's old silver pocket watch to his brother.