Dad's Country Mine

Now I could cycle and get most anywhere?
Sometimes, wherever he was going, dad would take me there.
I suspect mum told him to, to get me from under her feet,
As a way of getting to know my father it was rather neat.

His main hobby was racing pigeons, to give some a test;
Put them in rattan cages, released they did all the rest.
Put the cage on a lorry, or on a steaming train;
Mate would release them, they come home again.

He would often take me to a small village, Bucklesham.
A farming mate lived there, a laborer, named Sam.
The village was very tiny then, a farm, and cottages less than ten;
Also 'The Shannon' a pub; he'd call in, just now and then.

His mate's house, well off the beaten track,
Couldn't be seen, if you were coming back.
A knock on the door answered always by his pal.
Just behind us was a deep water wishing well.

His wife, she had this one blue glass eye.
I never dared ask her the reason why.
It was the left eye, I recall.
Always her husband, visitors, he tried to stall.

This gave her time, to get it from the mantle shelf
And quickly shove the glass eye into herself!
Because the thing had been left in the dry
It wouldn't quite fit into the socket of her eye.

Dry, the lids just wouldn't slide into place;
This monstrous eye, peering from her face.
Even after I'd been there many, many times more,
Never got used to her looking at me, and also at the floor!

One time Sam came, how I stopped laughing out loud?
The afternoon was dark, sky full of menacing cloud.
Sam said, "Oi shan't stop long, s'unnerstood?
With more snow comin', oi'll be on the rood!"

"I weren't 'halfway 'ere, an' it snewed an' blewed!
Woon't come 'tall, if I'd only 'ave knewed!
At almost blewed me orf m' bike!
Would 'ave come, if 'n I'd knew the loike!"

I didn't see much of Sam, dad's ol' pal;
Still can taste the water from his wishing well!