AS a boy, I remember looking longingly through the window of Turner’s shop on Aughrim Street and wishing I had more in my pocket than the 50p that nestled there. Turner’s was our special shop, the place we went to for treats. It sold comics like Warlord and Victor, as well as Commando story books. I loved those little books.
The other thing about Turner’s that I liked were the cowboys and indians that danced and pranced on their horses in its window. The cowboys had their six-shooters and the indians wielded tomahawks and hallooed blood-curdling war cries… at least they did in my imagination.
These days the indians are called Native Americans. Whatever their name, my childhood fascination with them evolved over the years to encompass reading quite a few books about them and, a few years ago, writing my own book (yet to be published) about the…
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