When we first moved to Gabalfa from Tremorfa, the estate was not finished, and we scruffy little boys with frayed collars and shoes and socks with holes in them "tormented the watchies" for amusement and the senses of fear and danger which were new to us, and intriguing. Trees still stood along the bank of The Taff, and amongst them, old houses. Magical old houses, with winding staircases and peeling wallpapers from a bygone age. A few of these houses, vacated by their tenants, waited to be pulled down and in the meanwhile suffered the ravages of curious small boys discovering the adrenaline of destruction for the first time.
At that time, the bed of the old canal still could be seen overgrown but there, from Gabalfa heading towards Cardiff Castle Grounds. Along the route of the canal, there was an old canal house, and two cottages with a little stream which you had to cross to get to the cottage where an old lady lived with her son. The old lady's cottage was lit with oil lamps. She sold cigarettes and tobacco and sweets, and was often robbed. Her name was Annie. "Go to Annie's down the canal and get me ten Woodbines" my father would say. Years later, as a grandmother herself, my sister would say that I sent her down that old canal by herself in the dark to buy sweets. I can't remember, but then, I'm not good at remembering my shortcomings.
Soon, my mother's releases and relapses led to longer sojourns at Whichurch Hospital, and my sister and I went back home to live with my father, who stayed out most nights getting drunk.