Chapter 7

As kids we spent most of our time out
Kicking at balls or just running about.
We played all sorts of games, whatever our whim.
In summer breaks though we'd mostly swim.

Summers then were always very hot.
Seems, looking back, that's all we got?
Mother gave us a threepenny bit;
Leastwise that's how I remember it.

We would walk two or three miles.
Laughing and playing - all full of smiles.
We would walk in threes and in pairs
Over to the scrub land; then called the Lairs.

Threepenny piece clutched in one hand
We knew the day was bound to be grand.
Soon, at the pool called "Piper's Vale",
To have a good time - couldn't fail.

The pool on the vale overlooking the river.
As we drew near in anticipation we'd quiver.
Clutching our towels, all thin and worn;
We were the luckiest kids ever born.

At the turnstiles we paid a penny a piece.
Banter between us never did cease.
Plimsolls, short flannels, shirts on the floor -
Very worn - mum couldn't afford more.

On "cozzy"; clothes into a locker stuffed.
Down to the poolside - we were so chuffed.
The pool was in the open air.
Water could be cold, to be fair.

Each of us stuck in a toe.
No matter the cold, in we'd go.
Up the five-metre board we would climb,
Bearing in mind I couldn't swim at the time.

I would jump to land near the pool's side.
At four or five; fear I just had to hide.
If I miscalculated, I just gave a shout;
The bigger boys would soon pluck me out.

Other bigger boys to the middle threw me in.
On that very day I soon learnt to swim.
The pool, privet hedged, on three sides bound;
Shingle "beach" up from the pool on the ground.

At the top 'tween beach and building, a patio
Was there when we got hungry, that we'd go
For a penny-a-cup of strong hot Bovril.
Feeling cold we would drink our fill.

Another cup in the afternoon;
Made our way home very soon.
Although light till late; had to be home by five.
Threats by mums, "Be late and you'll be skinned alive!"

Spent all that energy, we were starving, of course.
Laid before us, we would eat a scabby horse.
Talking of which, it was often our fate
To find horse meat on our plate.

One dish that made me go quite pale
Was when dished up meat from a whale.
Soon your appetite it would spoil,
Tasted just like cod liver oil!

Then when rations seemed so very poor.
Whatever, we would always ask for more.
If mum found dried fruit, that was very good.
Spotted dick or maybe treacle pud.

Two things for eating I didn't want to know;
Was frogspawn-like stuff, called sago.
Tapioca, other stuff with a funny name;
To eat it - I just wasn't game.

Chapter 6 - The Games We Played

Due to the war we had very few toys.
Knitted dolls for girls, not much for boys.
In those days we made all our own fun;
A game of cricket, sort of! Tip in and run.

On the grass verge between the trees
We play marbles, crouched on our knees.
Fine stones; another game we all played
With pebbles or "stones" someone made.

Hopscotch more a girlie's game;
Sometimes the boys would play it just the same.
A heavy rope to a tree we would tether
For skipping; singing on entering "all together!"

Often two ropes swinging in different ways;
Us boys would opt out then - it always pays.
Somehow boys would tangle up their feet
And end up face down in the street.

Cotton reels, two dead matches, elastic band;
All these things came ready to hand.
A "tank" they made when put into place
With which us boys would have a race.

Simon Says and Mister Wolf were good.
Street games played where we stood.
Bigger boys made a catapult
"To fight Germans" - full of salt.

Not all our time was spent in play.
Chores had to be done most every day.
Picking peas, all succulent and sweet;
Quite a few we'd promptly eat.

Elder and acorn made a pop-gun.
Most boys had at least that one.
This fun interrupted by going to school.
Told education was a necessary tool.

Oh! Yes, I nearly forgot, before I stop.
We'd often play with a whipping top.
Girls got cotton reels with four nails,
Knitted with wool; long coloured tails.

Chestnuts we would sell and eat.
Conkers too, laying there at our feet.
Pierce the, place them on strings;
Crack each others, the one left wins.

Games of Battleships, on paper those days.
Today, unless electronic, no plays.
Today blood-thirsty games youngsters on computers;
No wonder our police don't carry shooters!

My Home Front

The war results were worse than we expected.
Invade a land, to be promptly ejected.
First Norway with ship, their guns a'blazing;
Poorly planned, our efforts were far too brazen.

But the Germans organized; better prepared.
Beaten again - how ill we fared.
Sicily, Greece, then the Yugoslavs;
Kicked out again, doing things by halves.

Things seemed better on the sea, it occurred to me.
Montevideo a battleship sunk for all our glee.
But in the Atlantic were different anecdotes,
The war at sea was being won by u-boats.

They were sinking our ships just as they'd wish.
On the surface with gunfire, below the tin fish.
Back then we civilians never quite knew,
Believed what the media told us - not true.

By then the shelter we'd rarely go down.
Not very often would the Huns bomb our town.
Now it was bomb cities; London, Liverpool, Coventry.
Standing on shelters, glow from the fires we'd see.

Now the u-boat sinking had got really bad.
Very little in local shops to be had.
For a u-boat captain sinking was a sport;
Ships on their own, never an escort.

Sinking's so bad, what can we do as a ploy?
Line up the ships and make a convoy!
We got four funnelled frigates from the Yanks.
Cost us dearly, but we still gave thanks.

Now belated started the convoy system.
U-boats still active, we often missed 'em.
Mum told me the news she heard or read.
Young or not, from the radio or mum, it stuck in my head.

If I got up at night I would look,
In candlelight mum reading a book.
She was that way most every night
Just in case we had to take flight.

Her love for us was never in doubt.
That candle was rarely put out.
My little mum was so very strong;
Who belted you tho' if you did wrong.

Discipline didn't seem hard back then.
Rules were there for you to ken.
Break them and you got what for.
Rarely did you go back for more.

I still believe right to this day
That that period was the better way.
Looking around now at teenage louts -
Wouldn't have harmed them a few good clouts.

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.

Chapter 5

Although us kids thought life was fun,
The life we led was a difficult one.
With very few men now about the place,
We boys had to grow up at a rapid pace.

At times we were allowed to run free
Til mum called us in for our tea.
Mainly this was one slice of bread
On which marg and jam were spread.

Rations then were very small,
If you got any at all.
Plenty of veg and tons of stew;
The vegetables everyone grew.

Pork, lamb, beef bones - whatever.
Any meat rarely, if not ever.
Sometimes we got a piece of fish;
Homemade chips - what a dish!

Chapter 4

The heath lands were not very far for us to walk.
We kids would go there, all chatter and talk.
On those heaths things were not all right;
German raiders would hit them through the night.

There were bomb craters everywhere.
Us kids would play there - we didn't care.
We'd look for shrapnel; bullet cases.
Find some - see the joy on our faces.

Old jam jars tied up with bits of string.
Some of the craters were full to the brim.
We didn't dare to go in, they were very deep,
Besides which the sides were extremely steep.

Water movement on the edges formed a lip.
Homemade fishing nets under these we'd dip.
Tadpoles, frogs, newts were what we would catch,
The biggest prize tho' no other could match.

Not frogs, not newts, but in their place
Something which made our little hearts race.
After awhile it wasn't so very hard
To find this stuff left by the home guard.

Our previous catches - jam jars soon forgot
When we began finding this little lot;
Clips of three 0 three greased ammunition
Hidden there, still in good condition.

To find this stuff was so very rare,
It had been hidden with some care.
We'd barter most for silly things;
Bits of shrapnel or Perspex rings.

One stupid thing we sometimes did
With the one or two bullets we had hid;
We would take along a father's six-inch nail -
The next bit makes me shudder and pale.

We'd dig a hole with bullet or nails pointed end,
Only because we knew that neither of them would bend.
The bullet was put in - casing uppermost,
Nail sharp end down, buried just like a post.

Earth replaced, then tampered down,
All to be seen was the nails crown.
Now with a hammer or brick, gave it a smack;
The bullet fired with an almighty crack.

Dig to find the casing, shattered, all rent apart.
The bullet never to find; give up heart.
Wonder then how deep the bullet would go,
Not thinking of the danger, too young to know.

One dark night atop the Anderson
Not long after the siren had gone,
We heard a most peculiar sound;
Something dropping all around.

We saw flames - the school was hit!
Cheering from kids, didn't care a bit.
The school caretaker soon put it out;
The least kids called him "Blinkin' lout!"

Next morning, if you would please,
Was a guard on a tray of incendiaries.
Another odd thing that littered the ground;
Something we took it that made that sound.

Were strips of paper, silver one side, black the other.
Dropped to fool radar, give their bombers cover.
One other thing dropped from the skies;
Bombs which were called "butterflies".

Posters warning kids not to touch, everywhere,
But we looked for them, we didn't care.
One wonders if they ever dropped
A terror weapon on kids; probably stopped.

Butterfly looking thing; a three-foot rod.
Bomb on the bottom, touch it, dead poor sod.

Capture

Some German pilots would produce a gun!
But that didn't make the ladies move or run.
They would shout in English, if they could,
"Germany would soon own the place on which they stood!"

"This country would soon be theirs!" they made it clear.
Woman's reply, "There's a good boy, drop it dear."
Faced by these ladies he could not run,
He would hand over his Luger gun.

When forces came to take him away,
often you would hear some ladies say,
"He was scared and looked so young,
reminds me of my serving son."