Christmas in the Fifties

But Mum said ‘it would do for now’
as she kissed my cheek, kissed my brow,
She tucked me in on Christmas Eve
when I was young and still believed.

Was that a footstep on the stairs,
My brother’s snoring really scares,
Will he get down that chimney tight,
will I get my first glimpse tonight?

I lie awake, for ages and ages,
Skimming last year’s Beano pages,
Under my blanket torch alight,
Getting sleepy, losing the fight.

Woke next morning, screams of glee,
Missed him again, How could that be?
A bulging sock suspended there,
An apple, an orange, maybe a pear.

Cadbury’s chocolate! what a delight!
Three new pennies: shiny and bright,
A piggy bank with its own key,
It wasn’t much but meant all to me.

The front room always looked divine,
A roaring fire, the smell of pine,
Tinsel draped on the real fir tree,
Foil wrapped chocolates just for me.

Silver baubles’ reflections revealing,
Paper chains strung on the ceiling,
Needles dropping on linoleum
swept up daily by tidy Mum.

Lone present neath the Christmas tree,
wrapped really well, was that for me?
This was as good as it could get,
I’ve got a new Meccano set.

Ripped off wrap all over the floor,
One present each but that was more
than we could expect; times were hard,
some mates didn’t get a Christmas card.

So ten young children eat the grub
which cooked while Dad was at the pub,
He’d already had a drink or two,
but then, it was his holiday too.

Poor Mum would have to slave away,
No fun for her on Christmas day,
Times were tough, yes, I agree,
but at six years old, it worked for me

Eric Harvey 2017