Mum's Job

Mum was a little tiny tot,
'Course I loved her quite a lot.
She was the one who gave discipline,
Tho' by now hardly up to my chin.

Stealing or lying was really bad.
If caught the belt was what you had.
And I still don't think it's wrong;
I knew the consequences all along.

Punishment given, she would give me a hug.
She'd kiss me; she loved her little thug!
Money was still short in our house; mum I'd see
Working in in churchman's cigarette factory.

She hated the job and that awful smell,
But the extra money helped; went down well.
Mother had a great sense of wicked fun.
Treat her right or she's give you a run.

Lots of things she taught sister and me;
To prepare lunch, dinner, or our tea.
About this time, me, under her arm she took;
Teaching me to be a worthwhile cook.

About this time we reached a very high ridge.
Mum, at the co-op, bought a gas-fired fridge.
She'd make us breakfast, sit us down,
See to us before she left for town.

We might have a porridge or a boiled egg;
Mum cut my soldiers, sister would beg.
Maybe toast with marge and marmalade,
Or just bread and jam; mum's homemade.

Occasionally we have some corn flakes,
Funny man on packet; now no one makes.
Dad had gone to work, sunshine or freeze.
Same old sarnies, thick slices of bread and cheese.

Weekends, if all of us were there,
We'd sit down to the best of fare.
Saturdays were a bit of take-your-pick,
A fry up, a salad, fish n' chips, couldn't lick.

During this period my mum would also bake
Sausage rolls, jam tarts, buns, even a fruit cake.
In the pantry she knew how much was there,
But dad would snaffle them, he didn't care.

Sis and I would quickly explain to mum,
Dad took them; or get a very sore bum!
Sundays, roast beef, pork or maybe lamb.
Maybe boiled bacon, we called a ham.

All would be served with their own sauce.
Mustard, horse radish, apple and mint of course!
Next day for dinner; lunch, so to speak,
Left over roast, and bubble an' squeak.