My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

By Gerrard Wilson

This story, one of the earliest from my childhood days, is about my socks changing colour. Yes, they really did change colour! I am sure you are thinking, ‘Did it really happen or was it just the result of a child’s overactive imagination?’ Read on, my friend, and decide for yourself…
I was only six years of age when we set off on our first summer holiday, to Ireland. Although my mother hailed from there, in my young, innocent mind Ireland was a far-off, exotic country. I thought it something akin to Africa, India or even Borneo, where it was claimed head-hunters roamed.
We lived in a quiet part of southern England, a place called Sunbury-on-Thames, where nothing exciting ever happened. Setting off, on holiday, to another country was as exciting as it could possibly get.
My sister, Maria, two years my elder, and my brother Tony, two years younger than I, were almost as excited as I was. Moreover, when we boarded the electric train that was our transport to London, we could hardly contain our excitement.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 18, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326218645

Book preview

My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

Gerrard Wilson

My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

Text copyright © 2015 Gerrard Wilson

Gerrard Wilson asserts the moral rights to

be identified as the author of this work.

Conditions of sale:

This book is sold subject to the condition

that it shall not, by trade or otherwise,

be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated

without the publisher’s prior consent in any form,

binding or cover other than that in which it is

published and without a similar condition

including this condition being imposed

on the subsequent purchaser

My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

Bonus Feature

My Socks That Magically Changed Colour

This story, one of the earliest from my childhood days, is about my socks changing colour. Yes, they really did change colour! I am sure you are thinking, ‘Did it really happen or was it just the result of a child’s overactive imagination?’ Read on, my friend, and decide for yourself…

I was only six years of age when we set off on our first summer holiday, to Ireland. Although my mother hailed from there, in my young, innocent mind Ireland was a far-off, exotic country. I thought it something akin to Africa, India or even Borneo, where it was claimed head-hunters roamed. 

We lived in a quiet part of southern England, a place called Sunbury-on-Thames, where nothing exciting ever happened. Setting off, on holiday, to another country was as exciting as it could possibly get.

My sister, Maria, two years my elder, and my brother Tony, two years younger than I, were almost as excited as I was. Moreover, when we boarded the electric train that was our transport to London, we could hardly contain our excitement.

When I say electric train, it probably stirs up visions of sleek, shiny carriages whistling along even shinier tracks in a most efficient manner. That vision, however, could hardly be further from the truth. The green painted electric trains travelling from Sunbury to Waterloo Station, in London, were old. Even