Guy

When we were young children, as Bonfire Night came round once more, my sister and I would fill Dad's old shirts and trousers with leaves and fill an old bag with a covering mask, join them all together with string and top our creation with one of his old Postman's hats.

Dad would have saved all the rubbish from the house and built an enormous heap at the bottom of the garden. We'd sit 'Guy' on the top in the late afternoon as the light was fading and then return to murder him under the cover of darkness.

The light in Dad's eyes has faded now and his thin body would not fill out those shirts or trousers as it once used to. If he did receive any mail, he wouldn't be able to read it. Dad will die soon and only his ashes will remind us of the father who joined in all of our games and worked so hard to ensure that memories don't just arrive on postcards.