Ray Boorman


I remember many years ago when I was just a lad,
Memories of my childhood and the good times that we had,
The old abandoned Manor House left in disarray,
A place to go exploring, a place for us to play,
Old gentleman’s allotments in neatly planted rows,
Showing off their produce at fairs and county shows,
Prefabricated houses put up after the war,
Very grey and dingy, except for painted door,
The portly local bobby, a man, young boys did fear,
Who’d march you off to father who’d clip you around the ear,
The man delivering paraffin selling in the street,
And banking up the fire at night to give you extra heat,
The old brown painted sweet shop with rows of screw lid jars,
The sound of people singing in smoke filled public bars,
Using old tin dolly tubs and wringing clothes through mangles,  
And eating fizzy Sherbet dibs, Newberry fruits and Spangles,
It only seems like yesterday time passes by so fast,
I wonder what the kids today will remember from their past ?

I suppose you have to have been brought up in a working class family in the UK to understand this poem, for those of you who can remember? then I hope it brings back a few memories for you.Comentario del autro


Todos los derechos pertenecen a su autor. Ha sido publicado en e-Stories.org a solicitud de Ray Boorman.
Publicado en e-Stories.org el 09.02.2011.


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