There was a time, another age,
if we turn back that dog eared page;
When boys wore boots and rolled down socks,
and girls had sandals, bows and frocks;
Our „Poofs‟ held up gran‟s swollen feet,
and kids could play out in the street.
With scabby knees and dirty chops,
and clay bunged Tizer from the shops;
Whole days around the bomb sites spent,
„fore venture playgrounds were invent;
Commando knives with rubber blades,
lime mortar lumps our Mills grenades.
Where „mortar‟ blasts got in your eye,
and stinging nettles made you cry;
On corrugated iron sleds,
we scoured our shins and lumped our heads;
We stood on nails in bits of wood,
wore duffle coats by just the hood.
Old water cisterns pirate ships,
stocked up with buns and sherbet dips;
We passed around the ginger pop,
when only cissies wiped the top;
And impetigo, nits and fleas,
ran stowaways on our high seas.
[...]
And those when „parkies‟ thicked your lugs,
hot home made custard came in jugs;
Cold winter lino froze your feet,
and bobbies all still walked their beat;
When every pantry had a mouse,
and doctors still came to your house.
[..]
Sticks 'n Stones
[Abridged]