Memories of a totally different way of life when I was a child.
I remember when I was very small
And we lived in a tiny terraced house,
Where rats played in the back yard
And the cat often brought in a mouse.
I remember the dark depressing street
Watching the miners as home they did come,
After twelve hours shifts in a thankless job
They looked so filthy, tired and glum.
I remember the shop on the corner,
Which sold everything we could possibly need.
Where meat and bacon came from the slicer
And broken biscuits satisfied our greed.
I remember the clogs worn by children
And the noise made as they clattered by,
And their tatty grey clothes and hand me downs
Which rarely kept them warm and dry.
I remember the loo at the bottom of the garden
With string holding newspaper squares,
And the weekly tin bath in front of the fire,
And when naughty being shut under the stairs.
I remember being made to share a bed
With my little brother who had bad dreams,
I used to hide my head under the blankets
So I couldn’t hear his frightened screams.
It makes you realise how lucky most of us are now
To have bathrooms and roofs over our heads,
With warm clothes and plenty of food on the table
And each sleeping in our own cosy beds.
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