It’s an age thing, probably. There I was minding my own business when suddenly I’m with Dad in West Register Street in Edinburgh. It’s the 1950’s, I’m only five, and we’ve just come from the Bus Station around the corner. We stop at the side entrance to Woolworths at the east end of Princes Street. I haven’t been there before. There are some steps leading down to a vast room that’s so brightly lit it hurts my eyes. I can see glass counters everywhere that all seem to be gleaming gold and silver. And there’s a loud hum in the room. It’s like a beehive, except it’s filled with people, not bees, who are the source of the hum. When we go down the steps, it’s there in front of us – a glass counter, behind which are trays, hundreds of trays, each one full of sweets. There are sweets of all different shapes and sizes and colours. The most I’ve ever seen before are in those big jars that Betty McGillivray keeps on her counter when we go to her shop in the Ferry for our lucky bags on a Friday after Dad has been paid, our weekly ration. But in here it is like an Aladdin’s Cave of sweets. I’m mesmerised. I’m transfixed. Nothing else exists except those trays of sweets. Then a lady behind the counter speaks to me, and I turn to look for Dad. He’s not there! I’ve lost my Dad! There are many people going back and forward, big people, giants, but no Dad. I’m all alone, tiny, lost. Tears are already streaming down my cheeks. I can feel a wail well up in me, but I stifle it when I see Dad’s face. It’s white and drawn. He looks as worried as me. I run to hug him. He hugs me back. I’ll never be hugged so hard in all my life. We stand like that for a while. And when we move on from Aladdin’s Cave, there are no words spoken. We’re both too relieved to speak.