Childhood memories are an inexhaustible supply of material for the poet. Just when you think you are coming to the end of them, a fresh wave comes over you and releases another swathe. If you have siblings, they can remind you of times past which you might have forgotten – or half forgotten. If not, you can interview yourself. Sometimes it takes nothing more than the nudge of ‘What games did we play?’ or ‘When did I learn to ride a bike?’ or ‘How did I spend time at Grandma’s?’ to produce a flood of memories to drench you.
Gill Hawkins of Wimborne, Dorset found that memories of a special event each summer gave her all the material she needed to
