Saw this and thought I would share it .
This poignant poem will transport you back to a time gone by, to days treasured whilst growing up …
Treasures
Thick chunks of bread covered in dripping
Chanting in playgrounds, hopscotch and skipping.
Potties pushed under our bedsteads at night
Blankets tucked in so the bed bugs won’t bite.
Marbles in satchels, blackboards and chalk,
The teacher tells us not to run but to walk.
Socks that were darned on long winter nights,
Spiders in match boxes gave us a fright.
Cats cradles carefully crafted from string,
Dock leaves rubbed in to stop nettles harsh sting.
Elastic on mittens threaded through jackets,
Cricket and tennis with second hand rackets.
Chicken pox, mumps, head lice and measles,
Colourful paints and wonky old easels.
Birthday cards filled with a brown ten bob note,
Handkerchiefs pinned on the inside of coats.
Tadpoles in jam jars fished out of brooks,
Torches in bed so we could read books.
Spit on a tissue to wipe on our faces,
Conkers on strings and wheelbarrow races.
Gob stoppers, sherbet, a quarter of sweets,
A penny or two for our weekly treats.
A swing made of wood and a bit of old rope,
A bath once a week with carbolic soap.
Days now long gone we remember at leisure,
These are the days that we’ll treasure forever.
Jan Millward©
This poignant poem will transport you back to a time gone by, to days treasured whilst growing up …
Treasures
Thick chunks of bread covered in dripping
Chanting in playgrounds, hopscotch and skipping.
Potties pushed under our bedsteads at night
Blankets tucked in so the bed bugs won’t bite.
Marbles in satchels, blackboards and chalk,
The teacher tells us not to run but to walk.
Socks that were darned on long winter nights,
Spiders in match boxes gave us a fright.
Cats cradles carefully crafted from string,
Dock leaves rubbed in to stop nettles harsh sting.
Elastic on mittens threaded through jackets,
Cricket and tennis with second hand rackets.
Chicken pox, mumps, head lice and measles,
Colourful paints and wonky old easels.
Birthday cards filled with a brown ten bob note,
Handkerchiefs pinned on the inside of coats.
Tadpoles in jam jars fished out of brooks,
Torches in bed so we could read books.
Spit on a tissue to wipe on our faces,
Conkers on strings and wheelbarrow races.
Gob stoppers, sherbet, a quarter of sweets,
A penny or two for our weekly treats.
A swing made of wood and a bit of old rope,
A bath once a week with carbolic soap.
Days now long gone we remember at leisure,
These are the days that we’ll treasure forever.
Jan Millward©
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