All my babyhood now long since gone,
Life for me seemed to just plod along.
There were great big floods of our land,
Thankfully not too close at hand.
Still the swimming lessons by the school,
But I, like a fish, was in the pool.
Some lads and lasses trained for swimming team,
Although underage, I'll show them what I mean.
I beat the lad picked for inter-school race,
Teacher decided I should take that boy's place.
I cannot remember when the inter-school gala was,
I suppose I was too excited at the time because...
I managed to come in first place!
Seeing the grin on my boyish face,
Dad advised "Don't you set the pace.
Remember it's first home wins the race!"
That summer of forty-seven, what a belter!
Hot and humid, about 90 degrees; made all swelter.
We all went down to the pool 'Pipersvale',
Started off beginning of summer all very pale.
By August we were tanned almost black,
Mums used to scrub our neck and back.
It was like that the whole summertime,
Mum scrubbing our tan, thinking it was grime.
About this time I took a little job
As a way to earn a couple of bob.
I helped in the local fish 'n chip shop,
Eyeing spuds, giving dud'ns the chop.
I tipped them from their delivery sack;
Keep on going, I had no time to slack.
They went into a big whirling spinner,
The roughened sides a spud peel skinner.
Taking a sharp knife, I took out all the eyes.
This operation with great care, if you were wise.
Next I put them into a machine quite near;
Making sure my fingers were very clear.
This machine chopped the spuds into chips,
Into a big dustbin, in water they slips.
In those days fish 'n chips were cooked in lard,
Came in a square box; heavy, solid and hard.
Meal cooked, drained and placed in grease-proof sack.
Then newspaper wrapped, to be eaten going back.
That fish, those chips, seemed much tastier when
Having eaten all, you could read the newspaper then!
March 8, 2011
Last of the Halls
The MG uncle was in the King's Navy.
Ship was local, so his sister, mum, he came to see.
On a long-weekend leave, I believe it was just so,
Going to the hippodrome, would I like to go?
Mum said it was okay, so downtown we did nip,
This was better he said, than a weekend on his ship.
Inside the theater was rather rough, things were very worn,
But you could see how glorious it once was, before I was born.
We saw all the usual acts; singer and stand-up comics.
In between the chorus, high kicks and other frolics;
Sand dancers, conjurers, magicians and acrobats;
The so-call star, to follow all the other acts.
It was 'Jane' who long ago featured in a tabloid paper.
She had been depicted in a strip cartoon, always up to a caper.
She pranced with a sausage dog called "Fifi" most completely bare,
The audience, whistled and clapped, poor act, but did they care?
I wasn't too young to realize then
Why audience was mainly older men.
Back a school I was very well met,
Describing "Jane" and her tiny pelmet!
Ship was local, so his sister, mum, he came to see.
On a long-weekend leave, I believe it was just so,
Going to the hippodrome, would I like to go?
Mum said it was okay, so downtown we did nip,
This was better he said, than a weekend on his ship.
Inside the theater was rather rough, things were very worn,
But you could see how glorious it once was, before I was born.
We saw all the usual acts; singer and stand-up comics.
In between the chorus, high kicks and other frolics;
Sand dancers, conjurers, magicians and acrobats;
The so-call star, to follow all the other acts.
It was 'Jane' who long ago featured in a tabloid paper.
She had been depicted in a strip cartoon, always up to a caper.
She pranced with a sausage dog called "Fifi" most completely bare,
The audience, whistled and clapped, poor act, but did they care?
I wasn't too young to realize then
Why audience was mainly older men.
Back a school I was very well met,
Describing "Jane" and her tiny pelmet!
Family
Now of all things I found gave me the greatest joy;
Proud, when some said you're good at it, my boy!
I loved to swim, both in the pool or in the sea,
My little sister often was to accompany me.
About this time we made a long trip south,
To see my uncle, a sailor who lived in Plymouth.
Now time of trip, I'm not very sure,
Town centre a bomb site, nothing more.
A ruined church, half a pub, a Nissan hut.
The Nissan hut was Woolies, but it was shut.
Shown the famous "Tamar" bridge, took the ferry boat.
Uncle was still a Navy man, medal on his coat.
My aunt was a Plymouth born, fast did she talk.
Had some difficulty, bad legs, could hardly walk.
One thing I do remember, swimming in pool by sea,
Coming back to uncle's house, to a lovely Devon tea.
Auntie always had a pot of cream, from top of milk.
All day it sat, she skimmed off clotted cream, like silk.
We enjoyed our trip, never been so far,
We were taken about in my uncle's car.
A month or two later he visited all of us,
To see all the family, but not by bus.
Now he had an open-topped, red, small MG,
Then one day he said to me.
"How would you like to drive my car?"
It was top of my childish dreams, so far!
He showed me the works; I drove off down the street,
Hoping that that morning all my chums I'd meet!
Of course, my uncle sat by my side,
For the duration of my driving ride.
Not long after this time we went by train
To see mum's eldest brother once again.
This one, he lived in Cheswick, tube to Tufnell Green.
His house was lit by gas, first I'd ever seen.
I had two other uncles on my mother's side;
She also had two sisters, sadly one of them died.
Another brother like mum; short, very tough!
Tried to join Navy; eyes were not good enough!
Youngest brother, Navy, tallest in whole family,
Neighbours talking, when he visits sister unexpectedly.
Lastly was sister, always I had a good laugh,
Back to back in mirror, both were five foot and a half.
Looking to see if one had grown taller than the other,
Of course, they were just the same, auntie and my mother.
Funny thing, I still have that mirror from way back down the track.
And every time I pass it, I see them stretching back to back!
This rivalry was on every time they met; neither one would flinch,
The five foot was far enough; the feud was over that half an inch!
Proud, when some said you're good at it, my boy!
I loved to swim, both in the pool or in the sea,
My little sister often was to accompany me.
About this time we made a long trip south,
To see my uncle, a sailor who lived in Plymouth.
Now time of trip, I'm not very sure,
Town centre a bomb site, nothing more.
A ruined church, half a pub, a Nissan hut.
The Nissan hut was Woolies, but it was shut.
Shown the famous "Tamar" bridge, took the ferry boat.
Uncle was still a Navy man, medal on his coat.
My aunt was a Plymouth born, fast did she talk.
Had some difficulty, bad legs, could hardly walk.
One thing I do remember, swimming in pool by sea,
Coming back to uncle's house, to a lovely Devon tea.
Auntie always had a pot of cream, from top of milk.
All day it sat, she skimmed off clotted cream, like silk.
We enjoyed our trip, never been so far,
We were taken about in my uncle's car.
A month or two later he visited all of us,
To see all the family, but not by bus.
Now he had an open-topped, red, small MG,
Then one day he said to me.
"How would you like to drive my car?"
It was top of my childish dreams, so far!
He showed me the works; I drove off down the street,
Hoping that that morning all my chums I'd meet!
Of course, my uncle sat by my side,
For the duration of my driving ride.
Not long after this time we went by train
To see mum's eldest brother once again.
This one, he lived in Cheswick, tube to Tufnell Green.
His house was lit by gas, first I'd ever seen.
I had two other uncles on my mother's side;
She also had two sisters, sadly one of them died.
Another brother like mum; short, very tough!
Tried to join Navy; eyes were not good enough!
Youngest brother, Navy, tallest in whole family,
Neighbours talking, when he visits sister unexpectedly.
Lastly was sister, always I had a good laugh,
Back to back in mirror, both were five foot and a half.
Looking to see if one had grown taller than the other,
Of course, they were just the same, auntie and my mother.
Funny thing, I still have that mirror from way back down the track.
And every time I pass it, I see them stretching back to back!
This rivalry was on every time they met; neither one would flinch,
The five foot was far enough; the feud was over that half an inch!
Country Life
As a boy, now ten, fast approaching eleven,
To be living where we did, to me was heaven.
We lived on the edge of Ipswich's perimeter.
Everything was nearby for us, yes sir!
Most days off school us boys would rush,
Into the territory of the singing thrush.
We would build our dens, all hidden well;
Cowboys and Indians, whoop and yell!
We would make spears, crude bows and arrows.
Shooting at and always missing little sparrows.
One place we lads had never tried scrump in,
Where during the war was RAF pilots stumping.
Surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence,
To try at that would have been very dense.
Now the pilots had long since left and gone,
The desire to do it, in us lingered on.
The place had a massive gate,
We volunteered our smallest mate.
They slung him over, a sight to see!
He landed in a very large apple tree!
Throwing over apples for us to retrieve,
The gate swung open, we could not believe!
One man, one horse, but we saved the day,
We all ran, each a different way!
By this time it was getting dark.
Sod! This game, for a children's lark.
Most made for the heath, which nearby, of course,
Easier to hide from him and his white horse.
We all managed to slip him, though riding.
But were late home; all got a good hiding.
We crossed that old barracks off our places,
Good thing it was too dark to know our faces!
Dad took me, him riding a big trade bike,
To fetch some stuff the pigeons like.
He knew the place, a dried up river bed,
I just did as I was told, whatever he said!
"You bring the small shovel, there's a lad!"
I soon saw where the stuff was to be had.
Red in river bank, told it was shale,
We'd fill up a sack or a small pail.
Birds have no teeth, I knew that to be.
They have a gizzard, workings explained to me.
It's essential to keep the pigeons well,
It gives the hens eggs a good shell!
To be living where we did, to me was heaven.
We lived on the edge of Ipswich's perimeter.
Everything was nearby for us, yes sir!
Most days off school us boys would rush,
Into the territory of the singing thrush.
We would build our dens, all hidden well;
Cowboys and Indians, whoop and yell!
We would make spears, crude bows and arrows.
Shooting at and always missing little sparrows.
One place we lads had never tried scrump in,
Where during the war was RAF pilots stumping.
Surrounded by a high barbed-wire fence,
To try at that would have been very dense.
Now the pilots had long since left and gone,
The desire to do it, in us lingered on.
The place had a massive gate,
We volunteered our smallest mate.
They slung him over, a sight to see!
He landed in a very large apple tree!
Throwing over apples for us to retrieve,
The gate swung open, we could not believe!
One man, one horse, but we saved the day,
We all ran, each a different way!
By this time it was getting dark.
Sod! This game, for a children's lark.
Most made for the heath, which nearby, of course,
Easier to hide from him and his white horse.
We all managed to slip him, though riding.
But were late home; all got a good hiding.
We crossed that old barracks off our places,
Good thing it was too dark to know our faces!
Dad took me, him riding a big trade bike,
To fetch some stuff the pigeons like.
He knew the place, a dried up river bed,
I just did as I was told, whatever he said!
"You bring the small shovel, there's a lad!"
I soon saw where the stuff was to be had.
Red in river bank, told it was shale,
We'd fill up a sack or a small pail.
Birds have no teeth, I knew that to be.
They have a gizzard, workings explained to me.
It's essential to keep the pigeons well,
It gives the hens eggs a good shell!
Dogs and Vermin
Another thing I remember taking place at dusk,
In the same village, locals thought it was a must.
Country men in those days kept a terrier type of dog,
For carrying out this task, they were just the job.
When wheat was stacked, before the threshing stage,
Surrounded by a four foot high chicken wire cage.
Men were armed with sticks, two-pronged fork on end.
Fork whipped on, sticks sturdy, so they wouldn't bend.
Then the stack was diminished from the top,
Dogs were lifted into the cage, there to stop.
When the 'haystack' got to about chest high,
Dogs squealing with excitement, I wondered why.
Men inside cage, sticks in one hand, torch in other.
Then I saw why all were excited. Oh, brother!
At first vermin would peek out, hardly ever seen;
Then rats, moles, mice came out in a steady stream!
Squealing and leaping, like hot-footed frogs,
Trying to avoid the sticks and the terrier dogs.
Good dogs would with one bite kill; let it go;
It had two or three vermin before you would know!
Some dogs got bitten, owners egged them on,
Before you'd know, the vermin were dead and gone.
The next day the wheat stacks would go to a threshing machine,
Some worked with tractors, but most from a steam driven dream.
These huge steam engines, now only seen at shows.
Belts, pistons, fly wheels, everything that goes.
Used to run all sorts of things then, almost everywhere,
From pulling huge ploughs across a field, to a country fair.
In the same village, locals thought it was a must.
Country men in those days kept a terrier type of dog,
For carrying out this task, they were just the job.
When wheat was stacked, before the threshing stage,
Surrounded by a four foot high chicken wire cage.
Men were armed with sticks, two-pronged fork on end.
Fork whipped on, sticks sturdy, so they wouldn't bend.
Then the stack was diminished from the top,
Dogs were lifted into the cage, there to stop.
When the 'haystack' got to about chest high,
Dogs squealing with excitement, I wondered why.
Men inside cage, sticks in one hand, torch in other.
Then I saw why all were excited. Oh, brother!
At first vermin would peek out, hardly ever seen;
Then rats, moles, mice came out in a steady stream!
Squealing and leaping, like hot-footed frogs,
Trying to avoid the sticks and the terrier dogs.
Good dogs would with one bite kill; let it go;
It had two or three vermin before you would know!
Some dogs got bitten, owners egged them on,
Before you'd know, the vermin were dead and gone.
The next day the wheat stacks would go to a threshing machine,
Some worked with tractors, but most from a steam driven dream.
These huge steam engines, now only seen at shows.
Belts, pistons, fly wheels, everything that goes.
Used to run all sorts of things then, almost everywhere,
From pulling huge ploughs across a field, to a country fair.
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!
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!
March 7, 2011
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.
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.
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