Memories.

Memories


The good old days!  Who called them that?
They must have been insane.
Their memories aren't the same as mine.
No - mine hold much more pain.

No money for the luxuries,
we had 'make do and mend'.
No shilling for the gas meter
and never 'owt to spend.

The oldest of three sisters, my
that really was a chore!
Getting ready in the morning
was more like going to war.

The first one up in our house
was always dressed the best.
She had first choice of everything
and Heaven help the rest!

Mum worked her fingers to the bone
and tried to make ends meet.
Dad changed his job as many times
as we had meals to eat.

When Christmas came mum did her best
to fill our hearts with cheer.
But any money that she saved,
dad took and spent on beer.

I'd listen to them arguing
as I lay in my bed
and wish I could be miles away,
not hearing what was said.

As I grew up I came to hate
a knock at our front door
The tally man collecting dues.
He's wanting more and more.

'Tell him we're out' my mum would say.
He knew that I was lying.
He'd look at me with mindful eyes.
It made me feel like crying.

My first soiree - oh my, the shame!
I blush as I recall
the vivid yellow home-made dress
I hid beneath a shawl.

How sad - the way it made me feel
but how could I tell mam?
Done up in rehashed hand-me-downs.
Like mutton dressed as lamb.

She did her best through trying times,
and yes, it wore her out.
She left us well before she should.
We missed her, never doubt.

Yet in spite of all that happened
we made it through life's maze.
But don't let anybody tell you that
those were the good old days!

(They weren't really that bad!)