Walking backwards in my mind

I took a walk down memory lane, Just to check things were the same, I wasn’t surprised that I could see, The amazing changes that followed me, Life’s easier now, that the PC’s come But not always quite so much fun. I remember bath time in the tub, My dad he gave us damn good scrub, Mum had hers first, then the other three It was floating in scum, by the time it was me. Carbolic soap and a scrubbing brush, So blooming cold you had to rush. Sunday tea, there on your plate, A pink pigs foot, how could you be late, Or chitterlings, that smelt to me. I watched mum eat them, and say with glee ‘You don’t know what’s good for you’, But I knew it wasn’t her homemade stew. Cockles, mussels, whelks of rubber, I think of them, they make me shudder, Cod liver oil, poured on a spoon, It took great will to stay in that room, My woolly cossie, which stretched when wet, Knitted to drown me, I like to bet. Playing out was great fun, Kick the Can and then you’d run, British bulldog, skipping, hide and seek, I once hid so well I was lost for a week, The swing park where we had so much fun, Or my old bike, that hurt me bum. Chilblains that bit you in your bed, That itched like mad and glowed bright red, Ice on the windows, but on the inside, Under blankets you would hide, Your breath was white when in the room, Spring couldn’t come for me too soon. PE knickers, in navy blue, That could get me, Janey and Penny in too, Grandads house that he cleaned with Vim, And the lovely smell of paraffin, Outside toilets, that came with spiders, The biggest one’s were the cleverest hiders. Sunday lunch that smelt grand, But mum’s cooking used to taste quite bland, Trifle eaten with buttered bread, Banana jelly sticks in my head, Woolly vests that made you itch, Dresses with hems, you could see the stitch. Her first curry, I remember with fright, A lump of meat, yellow water, oh god what a sight. Shop bought cakes were for the rich, Mums caraway cake, she made, the witch, The pastry edges, she put on pies, Were used by us to poke out eyes. So when I walk down memory lane, I know life wasn’t always a pain, But I think technology’s not always best, I’ll take my pick and leave the rest, I wish my kids could have had so much fun, But without mums cooking and her currant buns… Written March 2nd, 2002 © on Jul 03 2002 07:12 PM PST    10 • 0