The Day I Buried My Shoes and Dug a Hole of Lies

Photo by James Xander on Unsplash Growing up in Port Tennant, Swansea, in the late 1950s and early 1960s, nobody tracked where we were. We had the sun, our wits (questionable), and Mam's voice carrying up the street when it was time to come home. We often didn't come home. Not when we were meant to. It got to the point where Mam called the police more than once to report us missing. In reality we…