Grandad’s tales of “The Good old days”

The tales he told at bedtime, as I sat upon his knee.
Took him back to his boyhood days, and were a treat for me.
He’d ramble on of the “Good old days” his childhood in the “Pool”
He! always was the one that got the cane at school.

Impetigo, gentian violet, shaven heads for nits,
Clinic glasses, plastered eyes, St Vitus dance and tics
Tin bath on a Friday night, boilers on all day,
Nice clean towels by the fire, yer can’t go out to play.

Skipping ropes and double ball,
hide and seek , lean against the wall
up to a hundred counting, counting.
“Coming ready or not “ he’s shouting

stick and hoop, and steery cars,
Cowy hats, and wooden swords
Going to town on the tram
Picnicing with bread and jam

Full strength capstan behind the bike shed
Army coat upon the bed
Down the yard for the loo
Using the echo after a p--

He burns his hands on the candle.
It goes out he’s in a tangle
Where the hecks the blinkin mangle
He got a penny to turn the handle

Parma violets, sticky lice
Frys five boys and chocolate mice
The nit nurse and the Derbac comb
No money for buses, you walked it home.

Provi cheques and the tally man
Scouse on the fire in a big black pan
Hot buttered toast done in front of the fire
His Dad, Soling his shoes with a Dunlop tyre

Scrubbing steps, clean your own winders
Banking the fire with old cinders
Dolly pegs and dolly tubs
Rubbing boards to scrub and scrub

That’s it for now me legs gone dead
Its time you were tucked up in bed.
Of you go up them apples and pears
Don’t forget to say your prayers

“Eh, yer’ve never had it so good.” he’d shout.
Shush Grandad, “yer don’t know nowt”

By J. Campbell