Oh, those fantasy days
Of narrow houses, long gardens,
Backing on to the railway line,
Where passengers marvelled
At the symmetry of washing,
Doing its flappy each-way act.
The vegetable patches
Gobbled up the dust and grime,
And smiles were extracted
From the school of hard knocks.
At sunset, big, proud men
Would contemplate their lot,
And bow sun-fired heads
Obediently low.
Sounds like my childhood Stephen. I can hear my mothers’s voice ringing in my ears now as my sister and me ducked between the Persil brilliant white sheets playing tick. And my dad watering up his little plot before dinner, that he called tea! Great memories, thank you!
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Stephen Gospage
Sun 7th Jul 2024 16:52
Thank you, Graham. Great memories indeed. I have a childhood memory of visiting my grandparents, whose house in East London was near the District Line on the Underground, which was overground at that point. You could see the washing in the back garden from the train.
And thanks to Nigel, Hélène, Manish, Leon, Tim and Patricia for liking this.