Thinking of past times

Thinking of past times

Thinking of past times
Is something I rarely do
Going back can be painful
The present, the here and now is where I live
Scenes in my head that I keep locked there
Don’t go there, leave it be
But in mature years
Memories creep in
Thoughts and feelings stirred up
Like a muddy, mucky pool
Put some in a box, lock them away
But perhaps remember sweet childhood days

Remembering the back streets, running with friends
Making camps with corrugated iron sheets
Made cosy with stolen bits and pieces
Scaring each other in underground tunnels
Splashing through the Quaggy
Boots full of scummy water
Throwing sticks at huge rats
Climbing over rubble strewn bomb sites
Houses gaping at the sky
They had flowery wallpaper
Look, you can still see the fireplace
Twisted pipes once supplied water
I wonder who they were, where they went
Did they die?
Come on, down the air raid shelter
Dank and creepy, wait for me
Don’t leave me in the dark
Hunting for treasure on the dump
Anything, buttons, once treasured ornaments
Poking through the remains of people’s lives
Up to the prefabs came the call
And we set off, to those wondrous little palaces
Where Billy lived
Lucky Billy in his snug and comfy prefab
Neat vegetable beds, polished windows
How we wanted to be like Billy
And his sister Brenda
No ice inside the windows for him
No freezing loo, and icy Lino
Sometimes, he would let us in, if his mum was at work
And we would marvel at the warmth, the radiogram
The sheer luxury of life in a prefab
Now off on a scream around the prefabs
Whooping and yelling
Annoying the old women who leaned on the fence
Telling tales of their neighbours
Passing on titbits
She’s got new shoes
Where did they come from
Not on her wages.
They don’t pay that well in Woolworths
Cackle cackle
Got a fancy man has she?
Wouldn’t be surprised
No better than she should be
Get off you bleeding kids
Ain’t you got homes to go to
Gertcha or the bogey man will get you
And we are off down to the long dump
Eating blackberries, picking May blossom
Whatever the season the game was the same
Cowboys and Indians
Making bows out of twigs and string
Whittling a stick for an arrow
Remember when Patrick shot Jimmy Cassidy in the eye?
That was a right too do. Had to go to hospital
I don’t want to be an Indian
You are a girl, you have to be
Wagon Train, scouts and rustlers
Who’s got a barrow? Let’s have a race
Orange crates on planks
Old pram wheels, steered by string and luck
Down the hill from the Sydney
Faster and faster, hitting the kerb
Bouncing along and
crash at the bottom
So we will fix it again
More streamlined, maybe paint it
What do you think?
It’s getting dark, better go home

Guy Fawkes Night, best night of the year
Got our guy ready sitting in the barrow
Penny for the guy mister?
Maybe get enough for Jumping Jacks
More likely sparklers
Been building the bonfire since September
Ours will be better than Mount Nod Square
Nah, they have got tar blocks
Will go up like a bomb
But ours will be great
Lots of orange boxes, planks old furniture
Can’t wait, rockets and Catherine wheels
Got the milk bottle, got the nail
Toffee apples stick to your teeth
Bliss
Brian has stepped on a rusty nail
Right through his boot
Hospital again

Long time ago, where are they now
Billy and Brenda, Pamela, Roy and Penny
Hot dog and Buster
Not golden boys and girls, we were scruffy and dirty
Lousy With nits and boils
Running the streets from dawn to dusk
We never thought we would grow up
We never thought we would grow old
But we did.