Granddad's Final Journey Clatter, wobble, clatter, wobble went the wheels of the pram as he pushed it up the steep incline to the park. It was a faded brown 'Silver Cross', the premier of prams, not like the thin tubular rubbish they mass-produce today. He breathed heavily as the weight of his heavy overcoat began to take its toll on the aged but still erect figure of the man. Ah! At last the park gates, just a short breather before entering the lush greenery of the park, taking off his overcoat he drapes it carefully over the pram handle, gently, so as not to wake the sleeping occupant. The clatter and wobble of the broken wheel screeched into his brain, "Bloody wheel the man mumbled to himself.
