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I have been very fortunate to have travelled the world extensively as both child and adult. I was born in Trinidad and sailed back to the Channel Islands via the UK at the age of about 6 weeks. Shortly after that we sailed out to Kenya via the Suez Canal. I remained in East Africa for Three years before returning to Britain via the Cape of Good Hope. By the time I was four I had crossed the Atlantic and circumnavigated Africa on board 3 liners.

My parents knew that if I continued to live with them I would be constantly changing school and in order that I had a stable education they sent me to boarding school whilst they continued to Globe Trot. By this time Airliners had become the normal means of travel and so my school Holidays were full of trips to exotic countries such as; Ascension Island, Mauritius, Hong Kong, Grand Cayman and Gibraltar, to name a few.

This nomadic lifestyle continued when I joined the Army on leaving school. I moved regularly sometimes for a few weeks and other times for months or years. By the time I left the Army the longest I had lived in one place was three years.

I have now lived in Guernsey for eight years and I am still enjoying the stability that has come with remaining in one place. I was thinking about this about a year ago and thought that it might be fun to pen some verse on the different forms of accommodation I have lived in over the years. I hope you enjoy the results of this endeavour;

Home

I boarded at school
along with my brother,
spending our holls.
with Father and Mother.

I’ve lived in the tropics,
the Far East and near,
a while in the US,
I even lived here.

I spent years in barracks
surrounded by wire,
with guards on the gate
ready to fire.

I’ve lived in a trench,
in all kinds of weather,
wrapped in a poncho
surrounded by heather.

I lived in a port
in a bombed out warehouse.
In Hong Kong I lived in
a parquet floored penthouse.

I spent six months
In a far off region,
sharing a camp
with the Foreign Legion.

Now refugee camps
are not “state of the art”;
they have to be uncomfortable
so people depart.

While a shipping container’s
a ready made shelter
it’s freezing in winter,
and in summer you swelter.

The heat of a jungle
the cold of the snow
these are the things
I’ve come to know

I’ve lived in buildings
as tall as the sky
and down in the cuds
but these I decry;

For all of these places
have become part of me,
but none were a home
without my family.

John Carré Buchanan
25 September 2010

Image: NASA/Via the Daily Mail

Go-Carts

A couple of weeks ago week my son asked if I had any wheels or wood which I could donate to his Scouts troop for a Go Carting event they were holding. We scraped together a few items and took them up to the Scout hut last Friday in order that the Scouts could make a couple of carts. When I collected him later that evening the pile of parts had grown slightly and a project for the remainder of the week was born.

Each evening after school the two of us worked together to make a cart. I must admit that watching him use my circular saw, and other power tools was slightly nerve-racking but also very rewarding. I watched with pride as he marked, cut and drilled the wood, and I listened as he voiced ideas and worked out what was required.

Whilst we worked I remembered a cart I made in 1974 when I was lived in Ascension Island. I built it using scraps I had salvaged from the Georgetown dump, (that dump seemed to hold everything; I even scavenged a hacksaw blade to cut the axle free from the heap of twisted metal it was entangled in). I also remember using my father’s power tools.

For me the our project took on new meaning. Here was I reliving events from my childhood through the eyes of a father, and whilst my size and weight precluded me from ever driving the finished product, somehow I knew that I was with him as he sped down the hill for the first time.

The best bit though was spending time working on the project with my son, and enjoying his company. The 2 pictures were taken 37 years apart.

Go-Carts

The shed had been overturned,
a pile of debris sat challenging;
planks of wood, an old bike,
a length of rope a lawnmower wheel.

He remembered being ten
Sitting on the scrap heap
using scavenged tools
to create a similar pile.

Back then his mind saw the sleek lines,
could feel the wind in his hair;
the joy of being free
As he raced down the hill.

Now younger eyes looked up, pleading.
A smile cracked his face
the unspoken deal made
as father looked at son.

They toiled together
Small hands on large tools,
proud father watching on
lending power and advice.

Finally they stood together, smiling.
A cart had risen like a phoenix
from the pile of debris.
It stood awaiting its maiden run.

With foot on brake the young driver
looking eagerly down the hill.
His father proffered advice and then
They were off…..

Two hearts pound in unison
Speed picks up, corner smoothly taken.
Father remembering the childhood joy;
As they raced down the hill together.

John Carré Buchanan
25 June 2011