Winter Mischief at the Brickyard

Every winter, like clockwork,
he’d turn up—
this old donkey,
like he knew exactly where he belonged.

Right there,
at our brickyard home.

He wasn’t just any donkey—
bit sly, bit cheeky…
always up to something.
You could see it in him.

Me and my three brothers,
we took to him straight away.
Didn’t matter the cold—
we were out there,
following him,
laughing, messing about,
letting the day run where it wanted.

He’d took the lead, always—
like he was one of us.
Or maybe we were just part of his world.

Then one morning,
he vanished.

Turns out he’d wandered up Carlton Top,
caused a bit of trouble—
enough for the police to bring him back.

Mum wasn’t best pleased.
We got the telling off—
but even then…
we couldn’t help it.

That donkey—
stood there like nothing had happened,
just a look about him,
like he’d had the best day of his life.

And maybe he had.

Thing is,
he wasn’t just trouble—
he was something else.

Freedom.
Mischief.
A break from the ordinary.

Every winter he came back,
same as always—
like a reminder.

That life’s not just rules and routine…
sometimes it’s about running a bit wild,
having a laugh,
and not worrying too much where the day takes you.

That old donkey—
he gave us that.

By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)

A memory from my childhood at the brickyard, where an old donkey brought chaos, laughter, and a sense of freedom. This piece reflects on simple days, brotherhood, and the unexpected moments that stayed with me.

#ChildhoodMemories #SpokenWordPoetry #BrickyardDays #LifeLessons #FreedomAndMischief #GrowingUp