Hoisted high into the air, I giggled, clinging tight to my uncle’s back. 'Again!’ I’d plead. My aunt had married
Gordon when I was small.
Living on the next street, my mum Gwendoline would take me, then 9, and my brother, 14, to play with their two boys.
As a binman, Gordon worked odd hours, and was often home to play with us.
They were carefree, innocent days. Until, one afternoon, Gordon suggested walking us kids to local woodland Judy Woods.
The boys rode bikes, while I walked beside Gordon.
'Jump on my back,’ he grinned, bending down.
Delighted, I hopped on.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot between my legs – from his fingers.
Screaming, I leapt down.
'What happened?’ asked my brother, looking concerned.
'She’s hurt herself,’ Gordon said.…
