The Good Ole’ Days

Those were the days my friend!

“Aye!” ses the old man hunched,

Crippled with arthritis.   Old leather slippers

Allowing a wrinkled big toe a sight

Of the flickering, temperamental, coal fire,

Through a hole wrought by years of use.

“Aye!” he says again, “they woz grand but ‘ard.

You young ‘uns y’don’t know yer born!”

It was like travelling back.

My jeans and sweat shirt felt as though

They belonged to some future era more akin to Star Trek.

It should have been brown baggy pants tied with string

Or, perhaps braces holding up and showing

Beneath the ragged patch tweed jacket

And, of course on my crown the flat cap

Without which I could not take my rightful place.

“Y’know son, when ah was your age

Ah’d been workin’ doon in t’pit for years.

Aye, me, our kid and the auld man,

Doon there in Shotton Colliery.  It were bad.

Made us men though, aye, it’ll do you some good

Working in all that clart, wet n’ dark.

No place for sissy’s that.”

“Ah, remember me mam, God rest her soul.

Cryin’ buckets she was.  “Y’Dad’s gone t’war.”

Nivver really understood, too young. “Fightin’ for King George

And England.  Died in glory they told us.”

Ah was right proud, someat t’boast to me mates.

Better that way though, poor Jack doon the street blind

And Johnny in number ten, gone mad they said.

I nivver did see me mam smile again,

No, not after that.”

“Mind you laddie, I did me bit for blighty!

Forty-one it was when ah was called up

‘Ad a missus n’ two kids be then.

Sent me to desert under Monty.  Great bloke.

The lads worshipped ‘im, he were a genius.

Went all the way to El Alamein wi’ ‘im.  Stuffed the Krauts.

Copped it in the leg.  ‘Ad to be sent ‘ome.

Pity really, ah was just beginnin’ to enjoy meself!”

“It weren’t all fightin’ and work though.

Used t’love Saturday afternoon at Roker or St. James.

Fifties were best, ganin’ up to Newcastle w’grandbairns

Stannin’ in warm or cold watchin’ Jackie,

Milburn that is, destroyin’ Spurs or The Arsenal.

The other United, Manchester, were a canny side n’all.

It were a great day in ‘Pools when the Busby Babes came.

Got beat, like, but we was proud of the lads.

Ken Johnson got a goal.  He owns a chippy now y’know.”

Yes!  I did know that link with today

Bringing me back to reality.  Passing through eighty years

And, looking back, despite modern technology

We’re no better off.   Just as much poverty

And on the brink of war as fifty years ago.

Jeans and sweat shirt, modern trends no better off.

Aye, Ah’ll think Ah’ll get patty n’ chips from Kenny’s.

He played again Man. United and scored y’know!!

9^th November 1990, Hartlepool, England.

-Richard