Pork

At that very young age I had to walk
To the edge of town to get some pork.
Forgive me if I don't know exactly when;
Being so young, it didn't matter then.

But I was up in the morning like a lark
To walk down the town past the park.
The two-mile journey I did quickly cover;
Walk one lamp post, run the other.

In my hand a bag of rexine strips.
I can see it now, recalling those trips.
In the winter it was very dark;
I ran like hell past the park.

In the bottom of the bag I had to tote;
A half-a-crown wrapped in a note.
As I approached the butcher's, I always knew
There'd be a load of housewives in a long queue.

Thinking back, they all looked pretty old;
All wrapped up trying to keep out the cold.
To be truthful, probably not one over thirty,
In ragged clothes, tho' none of them dirty.

Most with bandannas wrapped around their head;
Nearly all in curlers, now, it must be said.
Holding their bags, baskets - both hands to the fore.
I remember the noise; by god could they jaw!

Getting myself to the back of the line,
Shuffling forward one step at a time.
Dressed to keep as warm as they can;
Old coats or a thick holed cardigan.

All wore dresses cut down below their knees.
Uniformly they wore aprons - that's if you please.
But the thing that struck me and other small nippers,
The whole lot seemed to wear worn carpet slippers.

When I reached the front of the queue;
Greeted by the butcher - my name he knew.
Passed over the bag with the order in it,
"Just a mo!" he'd say, "Won't be a minute."

He'd pass me my bag, giving me a slight nod.
"I've put in some bones for your dog."
We both knew with dad away we had no pet;
Pork flavored stew tonight's what I'd get.

On the way home I'd just make one stop.
At the back of an "aunties" baking shop.
Rewarded with a steaming hot bread roll,
Merrily the two miles back home I'd stroll.