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!!
9th
November 1990, Hartlepool, England.
-Richard
