This week’s poem, written by Dennis Driscoll, is called Memories!
The ‘good old days’ are dead and gone, remembered often through some old song, Of rocking round the clock all night, Of too much beer till morning light, When gay was happy as one could be, With Saturday nights at the local Palais, Of doodle bugs, with sirens sounding, And the streets of London took a pounding, To the shelters we would retreat, And pray the bombs would miss our street! When front doors had a key on a string, And we had never heard of ‘Bling’, Of Saturday football, join in the roars, Then off to check if we had eight draws. Sunday morning up Petticoat Lane, Jellied eels at Tubbies, then home again, To the Sunday roast, simply ripping, Rest of the week, bread and dripping! Teddy boys came, lasted a while, The haircuts had to make you smile, Then smart Italian, hair changed to neat, With outrageous winkle-pickers on the feet, National Service, chance to travel abroad, At last to sever that umbilical cord? A few short memories of life in time, Of ‘good old days’ long left behind.
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