I'm 'Billy-no-mates' tonight, as the rest of the family are out doing various things. I've been rooting around through some of the scribblings I did some years back, when I had the writing bug.(Something I am thinking of rekindling.)I came accross the following piece of doggerel, one of the many I wrote back then to amuse my kids. I'd like to share it with those of you who, like me, are of a certain age, as it might bring back some memories.
(Jan, this is all your fault. Starting me off again on that other thread when you mentioned bomb sites.)
I often think of my old house,
though it's no longer standing.
The mildew and the rising damp,
the spiders on the landing.
I smile and call them 'good old days,'
though comforts were too few.
No modern low-flush W.C.,
just a chilly, outside loo.
Tiles were missing from the roof,
it creaked and groaned with age.
Wind whistled through the window panes,
amid the winter's rage.
Carpets? Electricity? They were only dreams,
I had lino and gas mantles 'til I was in my teens.
The bombsites were my playgrounds,
where I had hours of fun.
A broomstick for a fighting spear,
two fingers for a gun.
We built camps from bricks and milk crates,
we gave them fancy names.
Played cowboys and Indians,
and other war-like games.
I once went back to my old house,
for just one final look.
With feelings mixed I witenessed,
the last chapter in the book.
My old house was rubble,
something else would take its place.
A brand new block of high-rise flats,
reaching in to space.
Carpets, electricity,colour t.v's too,
those folks will never sit upon a chilly, outside loo.
They'll have fruit upon the sideboard,
hot water in the tank.
For what they are about to receive,
the good Lord they should thank.
Oh Chalkey thats wonderful.sniff sniff...where's me ' anky..
'ave anuvver billy no mates night in..:-) One of the reasons I was such a good reader was the amount of 'toilet' paper with print on..hanging on a string behind the warped wooden door, my backside was often imprinted with last weeks Daily Mirror/Sketch headlines!
The other reason was my nutty old man was one of the original Ron Hubbard followers, now renamed scientology..he made me read 'The Science of Dianetics' when I was accosted by one enthusiastic 'chuggers' years ago to buy the book, I could honestly say hand on heart I had read it in 1953! I even met the great man himself in his flat/office near marble arch somewhere.
That's an amazing thing to be able to look back upon, Jan. The only thing I read in those days was the 'Dandy' and the 'Beano.' (I later moved on to the 'Topper' and the 'Beezer.')
It was always the 'Daily Mirror' in our outside loo, cut up in to nice, neat little squares and hung on a nail and a piece of twisted wire. My nan also had an outside privvy with whitewashed walls. My grandad used to spend ages out there studying the form in the racing page of the mid-day Standard. He used to keep a pencil behind his ear and when he found a horse he fancied he would scribble the name of it on the wall, so he didn't forget it. That wall was covered with '6d each-ways.' I never thought of it at the time, but I now wonder why he didn't just put a pencil mark against the horses name in the paper.
I bet the demolition boys had a chuckle when they pulled the old place down in the early 1970's.