ANY DAY AT THE SEASIDE

 On the beach beneath the sun,

You hear the sounds of joy

And excited laughter of play

From every girl and boy

AS A BOY I ASKED GOD FOR A BIKE ONE DAY

As a boy I asked God for a bike one day,

But I knew God didn’t work that way

So, I decided to steal a bike and then

I asked God for forgiveness instead 

I WAS LITTLE MORE THAN A LAD

 

I was little more than a lad

And my hometown lay behind me

But I didn’t walk the road

As a lad for very long,

I quickly became a man

So I walked for many years

And for many miles

In country and in town

Working in the sweet-smelling fields

And the foul odorous cities

But I wandered tall and proud

Now the road lead me home

And the path breathes life

Into my wistful heart

JOYS OF A CHILDHOOD LOST

 

We virtually lived outside

Me and my friends

On long summer adventures

Until the days ends

But we weren’t just

The fair weather sort

We played outside even

When days were short

Rolling around in piles

Of autumn leaves of gold

Splashing through puddles

Despite being told

Playing imaginary games

About being lost in the fog
running through the woods

Chasing the dog.

In winter when Saturday came

Then off we’d go

With luck we’d wake

To find a fresh fall of snow

Then we’d happily sledge

Across the snowy land

Or build a snowman

Till we can’t feel our hands

Hours pass in minutes

As we’d happily roam

But despite the cold

We didn’t rush to get home

When we did we crunched

Through the crisp winter frost

Those were the joys

Of a childhood lost

RED MINI

 

My dad bought a new red Mini

He had it parked up at home

With a go faster stripe down the side

And brightly polished chrome

 

It had leather seats

And the dash was polished wood

It was nineteen sixty-two

And it looked like a Mini should

RED LEATHER CHAIR

 

My earliest memory

Of Grandpa Henry

Is of him sat in his chair,

A red leather affair,

Reading a volume

Of prose in his room

He sat me on his knee

And then he read to me

And for an age, we pair

Sat in his red leather chair

Reading tales of daring

And in adventures sharing

WHEN I WAS A KID I WAS COVERED

 

When I was a kid I was covered

In chocolate cake dough

Cherries and whipped cream

Life was hard in the gateau 

I HEAR A SINGING CHILD

 

I hear a singing child

Innocently engrossed

In childish play

Singing sweetly

To her audience of dolls

Safely oblivious

In her enchanted world

Would that it could

Always be that way

MY DAD WASN’T A VERY GOOD PIRATE

 

My dad wasn’t a very good pirate

I would go so far as to say he stank

We couldn’t even afford a dog

So, he made me walk the plank

WE WERE KIDS IN WORN OUT SHOES

 

We were kids in worn out shoes

And we’d gamble in one or twos

With liquorice and penny chews

On any contest we’d choose

But if we were then to lose

We’d sing the sweetie bar blues

THREE CHILDREN SLIDING ON THE ICE

Three children sliding on the ice

Fell on their bottoms once or twice

Three children sliding on the ice

How they enjoyed the slippery device

Until based on health and safety advice

The caretaker ruined it in a trice

WHEN I WAS A BABE

 

When I was a babe

Milk was my tipple

Either from a bottle

Or from mummy’s nipple

 

When I was a boy

Soda was the tops

Delicious bubbly

Sugary Fizzy pops

 

When I was a man

Beer hit the spot

A foaming brew

In a glass pint pot

 

Now I’m an old man

Drinking has no charm

As all my fluids

Now go thru my arm

WHEN I WAS A BABY

 

When I was a baby

I drank milk

From bottle or breast

 

As boy I drank

Fizzy pop

Limeade was the best

 

When I reached manhood

I discovered beer

I loved a pint of best

 

Now I’m nearing the end

Of my lifelong trip

And all my fluids come

Thru an intravenous drip

COMING OF AGE

 

When I was still but a boy

I went to visit a house of joy

And although I had to pay

I would honestly have to say

That for a coming of age event

It was the best quid I ever spent

OUT LIKE A LIGHT

 

I can remember like yesterday

So fearful of the dark night

My boy wouldn’t sleep a wink

Without the comfort of a light

Now he’s a teenage boy

He’s fearless and stays out all night

DON’T LET MUM

When you are a child

You will soon discover

That when your Mum

Is in a mood with your father

It’s a bad idea to let her

Brush your hair ever

Uncanny Tales – (022) Linda’s Corker

It was an ordinary afternoon in 1970 when I was in the fourth year of Secondary School at Alexander Park Comprehensive School. 

It had only been called Alexandra Park as long as I had been going there, before that, it was Cecil Rhodes Secondary Modern but as Haringey was such a racially mixed borough political correctness reared its ugly head, long before it was even a thing, and the name was changed.

The racial mix of the area was well reflected in the student body, in fact the School assembly was like a session at the United Nations.

We were sitting at the back of Mr Cooke’s 4^th year biology class.

It was the first class after lunch, and we were watching a very boring natural history film about mountain goats.

Rich and I had taken second sitting dinners which consisted of liver and bacon whereas Wendy’s lunch was made up largely of cider.

“That billy goat’s beard looks like Palmers fanny” Wendy said out of the blue and giggled

“What?” I said taken by surprise

“Who’s?” Rich asked

“Claire Palmers fanny looks like that” she said and pointed at a large brown goat on the screen.

“Seriously?” Rich said

“But she’s so small” I said irrelevantly

Claire Palmer was the smallest girl in our year by a distance, small and plain with straight lank hair and a freckled complexion, looking back she always looked like she should have been a year or two behind us but I guess she stopped growing when her pubic hair started. 

I had known her since junior school, but she was the quiet shy type and I don’t think she said more than a few words to me in all that time.

To be truthful she wasn’t really on my radar but at the moment Wendy made her lurid statement Claire became significantly more interesting.

“She’s the hairiest girl in our year” Wendy continued

“What’s yours like?” I asked taking advantage of her alcohol induced indiscretion.

“Ask him” she said nodding in Rich’s direction

“You’ve been in Wendy’s drawers?” I quizzed Rich in total shock, and more than a little jealously, not because I fancied Wendy, but I hadn’t been in anyone’s pants except my own.

Rich just blushed, so I punched him hard the arm.

I couldn’t believe he’d had his digits among Wendy’s ginger pubes and furthermore that he hadn’t told me all about it, he was my best mate after all, and furthermore he was a real drip and he’d scored before me.

“Linda McLean’s got a corker though” Wendy said a little too loud as Linda turned around and looked straight at me.

 

As we were walking to the next lesson Wendy suddenly felt sick and went off to throw up, Rich had French in the annex and I had German in the main block and it was when I was on my own that I felt a tug on my jacket sleeve.

“What were you lot talking about in Biology?” A girl asked and when I turned around, I saw it was Linda McLean with a frown on her face.

I liked Linda even though she was completely flat up top, but I had to admit I liked her even more after finding out she was more substantially equipped down below.

“What?” I said

“What were you saying about me in biology?” she asked forcefully

“We were talking about the flicks” I lied “Rich wanted to see “Rio Lobo”, John Wayne’s latest and Wendy fancied “Love Story”“

“I heard my name mentioned” she continued, and I shuffled my feet as I struggled to find an answer.

“Well um….” I mumbled “I said I was going to ask you to the flickers, and Wendy said “Great idea, Linda’s a corker”

She didn’t speak for a moment then she said

“Well are you going to ask me then?”

 

That Saturday night on the back row of the ABC Muswell Hill I confirmed Wendy’s assessment that it was indeed a corker and I was left to speculate that if little Claire Palmer was considerably more luxuriant down below than Linda then she must have had to wear bigger knickers.

The following summer at the Durnsford Road Lido I found out first hand so to speak but that’s another story.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uncanny Tales – (021) Where’s Winifred Bliss?

 

It was a blistering hot day in 1969 when the third year of Secondary School started, and Alexander Park Comprehensive School was heaving with familiar faces. 

It had only been called Alexandra Park as long as I had been going there, before that, it was Cecil Rhodes Secondary Modern but as Haringey was such a racially mixed borough political correctness reared its ugly head, long before it was even a thing, and the name was changed.

The racial mix of the area was well reflected in the student body, in fact the School assembly was like a session at the United Nations.

There was however one noticeable absentee in our form room that morning, Winifred Bliss, and it was noticeable because she was a foulmouthed gobby cow.

She was West Indian, though I never knew which island, she didn’t really communicate with the white kids other than to tell you to fuck off.

Our form tutor Mrs Holiday told us that Winifred would not be returning to the school, though she wouldn’t elaborate as to why.

Obviously by lunchtime rumours abounded as to her whereabouts, someone suggested she had runaway to join the circus, another that she had eloped to Gretna Green, the most popular theory was that she’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, which nobody would pay.

It wasn’t until we had drama with Mr Dickens after lunch that the truth surfaced when he stood up in front of the class

“There is some very foolish talk around the school regarding Winifred Bliss” he announced

“So, I have decided to tell you the truth”

The class fell silent and waited with bated breath, for what seemed like an eternity.

“Winifred was arrested by the police during the summer holidays” He said

“What for sir?” Mario asked

“For sleeping with boys” he answered

Sleeping with boys, I thought, what’s wrong with that, though I didn’t say it out loud as everyone else in the class was nodding sagely like they understood, but I didn’t, my brother and I often shared a bed with our cousins, and they were girls but they didn’t get arrested.

I never voiced my confusion to anyone about Winifred Bliss or the fact I used to get a stiffy when I shared a bed with my cousins.

A few months later the penny finally dropped regarding the significance of the phrase “Sleeping with boys”.

 

 

 

THE WISDOM OF MY TEENS # 1

 

When I was a teenager

When I got everything in my domain

Just the way I liked it

Mum made me tidy it up again.

THE WISDOM OF MY YOUTH # 2

 

When I was a child 

I found out that Barney 

Our family dog,

Also didn’t like broccoli for tea