I know when pigs had chitterlings,

and brawn and all that tripe.

There were no lambs, but mutton

was a breast of common type.

The table of scrubbed pine, had

grooves, deep ridged and strong.

I liked to watch the pigeons,

but the septic tank did pong.

The milkman and the baker,

all called to chat to mum.

She sent me out to play then.

I wished they wouldn't come.

The hock and sticky trotters,

were more useful feet than food.

Bread and butter pudding,

was stodgy, bland and crude.

With carpet hung on washing line

we beat out clouds of dust.

Pluck turkeys in the pigeon loft.

Pull giblets full of slime.

Clothes boiling in the copper,

were poked with wooden stick.

We wound them through the mangle.

and it stuck where they were thick.

Collecting empty bottles

to get some pennies back.

Then buying broken biscuits

for a sweet and secret snack.

I know when mum worked as a maid,

Dad biked off wearily.

I trudged to school in pouring rain,

And dreamed of what might be.