Remembering

I remember huddled around the wireless;
Early evening broadcast now I guess.
We'd listen to show called "Ovalteenies"
A show put on for 5 to 10 year olds and in-be tweenies.

Then we would hear stirring beating sounds,
Sis and I would giggle nervously look around.
The tune called The Flying Scotsman,
That's how the thriller, "Paul Temple" began.

Another programme that drove us potty,
"Dick Barton's" Special Agent, and pal Scotty.
This was to us our little treats,
But all our teas we had to eat.

In those days we ate, sat up at the table,
On those big old chairs, so strong and stable.
In olden days you had to eat all on your plate;
Not so these days, gone are manners at this date.

Speak only when you were spoken to.
Only speak if you wanted more bread or stew.
When we had finished, line up your cutlery,
Which said, "Thanks mum, thanks for my tea."

You had to ask if you could leave the table.
Mum would answer, "No, or yes, you're able."
This was normally when all had finished their meal.
Then just simply manners, no great big deal.

Of course you might get a clip around the ear,
If that little word "please" mum didn't hear.
We were taught to stand for oldies, or ladies on a bus.
No big problem, no big deal, at least not then to us.

All kids then said "Please madam, or please sir".
Failed to do so, displeasure you would surely incur.
Don't upset our betters, the very old.
You missed out on the great stories they told!

They told us of the first great war,
Eagerly we would ask for more!
Told us of the days when flying was a new art,
When traveling was by train or horse and cart.

Ordinary people did not travel too far.
None of them had a motor car.
To there and back, all in just one day;
Bus, bike, train, not very far away.

But all this ended, because of the war;
A great many new places, then they saw.
To places battles where bullets flew like driven rain!
Tragically, many young men never returned again.

Neighbours were then so friendly;
Always pop in for a chat and some tea.
I might be on the doorstep shelling peas
Into a colander placed on my knees.

Sometimes mum and pal would forget I was there
As all the local gossip, lady from next door would share.
Mum would half listen, she'd nod or tut,
But I never heard her exchange the smut.

I'd hear of a woman just up the road,
Described as having a face like a toad.
"Yes" neighbour would say "the usual prank.
She's entertaining a coloured Yank!"

I thought "Now there's a funny thing?
I didn't know she could dance or sing!"
Another young girl, quite good looking,
in 'pudding club'? Learning cooking?

An' what about her at number ninety-three?
Poor husband, him not long off to the sea?
She's just had another little brat!
Mum said "I don't see what's wrong with that!"

How will she explain that to her husband Sid?
Her having a bouncing baby coloured kid?
This was all said with me sitting near,
Things I suppose that I shouldn't hear.

Another thing they was made us share,
Sometimes a note, I've borrowed a chair.
Often found sugar, flour in cup on table
Borrowed this last week, many thanks Mabel.

Of course doors were left unlocked in those days.
Youth it seems, had very different ways.
Tho' things weren't always peace and quiet,
Our youth and Yanks could have a riot.

Now many a young woman had married a Yank.
Married, off to the States their lord did thank.
Went all over the land of milk and honey,
Believing their men had stacks of money.

Many married Blacks, then accepted here,
But in America they lived in fear!
Some should have consulted the political map,
Going to live in the south with a coloured chap.

They never realized in that wonderful nation
There was such a thing as segregation!
A great number of them came back real soon
Labeled as a 'nigger lover' a damned white coon!

Some others told of hubby's farm in Tennessee!
Lived in a wooden shack in the 'land of the free!'
I got to hear a great many of these things;
These 'girls' came back home, ditched rings.

Of course not all we heard was tales of woe.
Some couples were happy, made marriage go.
By now American bases were all over the place,
And soon us kids got used to a coloured face.

One or two couples married stayed over here.
They even got used, over time, to our warm beer!
Now I suppose I was somewhat over nine;
My life seemed to me to be going fine.

Dad was back home, back from the war.
This man 'till now I hardly ever saw.
Although he was not much of a family man;
A bit Victorian, like the house his mother ran.

One thing he did, at about this time, I guess,
Was to make a bike for me, it looked a mess.
He purloined the bits from an old scrap heap,
My bit'ser bike was at least mine to keep.

An old frame and a couple of wheels he got;
Handle bars, saddle, new spokes, brakes, the lot.
Then came the time he had to teach me to ride,
"Just peddle boy, I'll hold the saddle back to one side."

Off I went with a great deal of trepidation,
Could hear dad's boots, while he kept station.
I turned my head to say "Dad I'm ok!"
No dad there? Then I fell off, lost my way!

Quite soon I got the measure of things,
Cycling round as if I had some wings.
Now I could wander much further, and did I go!
With older lads we'd ride to the seaside, Felixstowe.

But into the sea we were not to go, it was forbidden.
Low tide we'd see why, barbed wire and mines hidden!
Once we went camping near the Nacton Shore,
Half a dozen lads, we could ask for no more.

One morning after a swim in a nearby lake
A fourteen year old made a terrible mistake!
Racing to beat all the other boys back
He didn't run on the normal beaten track.

He was bound to be first or so it seemed,
Over a hedge he leapt, and screamed, and screamed!
I'd never heard a scream like that before!
We all ran towards him, what was the score?

He'd landed feet first on some freshly cut reed.
The stumps like spears, my God did he bleed!
The Polish commandos, near just by chance,
Rushed him back to their own ambulance.

We all looked at the place where he'd been hurt,
If face down he had fallen he'd be dead for cert.
The cut down reed roots were all alike,
Standing up, a six inch vicious spike.