90 YEARS OLD
POTTED VERSION OF MY JOURNEY SO FAR
Tit!le
STILL HERE!
Minster workhouse
I sprouted a new branch to our wonky family tree
at the Minster Workhouse in late december 1933
Supposedly abolished by parliament during 1931
Not so, according to birth certificate and my mum
On December 23rd I was born all bright and perky
weighing10 lbs about same as a Christmas turkey
Times were hard for an unmarried under age mother
She had no choice and my care passed to another
A much loved Mrs Tapp in garden of England Kent
Where several other foundling children were also sent
An idyllic village where I could explore & safely roam
For five memorable years became my wonderful home.
Village in kent
Sunny Sunday mornings with loud church bells ringing
Bees and buzzing insects mingled with songbirds singing
with red coated foxhunters assembled on village green
Surrounded by waggy tailed hounds,looking really keen
Riding atop of the hay-cart helping to harvest the hay
Turning the mangle and pumping water on washing day
Feeding the chickens and collecting their eggs with care
Wild flowers,rabbits,pheasant and partridge everywhere
Never an angry smack or harsh words ever came my way
Only kindness and motherly care experienced every day
Where a big bag of bullseye sweets cost just one penny
unforgettable smiling, village faces, there were so many
All long gone- But I’m still here!
The Foundling Hospital School
At the tender age of five I was sent to Boarding School
with own Church,Gym,infirmary and even swimming pool
The shock and tears were shared with many kids like me
unaware the immense change to our lives this would be
became our new home for ten years during world war 2
We learned religion the 3 rs and how to play cricket too
Marched everywhere, sang god save the king every day
chin in chest out discipline was the only acceptable way
Food was rationed,thoughts were focussed on stuff to eat
Blackberries,Crab apples,sloes,wild strawberries for a treat
Most of those distant school day faces are also long gone
But I’m still here!
Meteor Jet
In 1951 conscripted into the RAF to fight for king and country
war was over but our masters were ready to fight all & sundry
I was given a gun & thirty bob a week to fight any would be foe
But I never fired a shot and most of us really didn’t want to know
Marching here,marching there,marching & saluting everywhere
polishing floors,polishing boots,polishing buttons and brassware
We continued to sing god save the king, but when he was dead
We were then instructed to sing God save her Majesty instead.
That didn’t work either ,now we’re back to saving another King
with jeweled crown, gilded coach and all the regular royal bling
But ! I’m still here.
In late1959 I met my soulmate at a scooter dance in Cheam
wife and mother for over 65 years, she has been supreme
Together we have put blossom on this now bustling family tree
That’s given us so much love and laughter during our journey
Family & friends are the gold dust & glue that bind us together
arms outstretched, always ready and willing to help each other.
In 2019 commemorated our 60 years with a lavish celebration
and were honoured by the late Queens card of congratulations
The Grim Reaper
It would be good to avoid the grim reapers gaze and final bus
To avoid death duties,funeral, flowers, and all the regular fuss
But inevitably I will reach my allotted time on this planet earth
Long past caring about dentures,hips,and ever widening girth
But I’m still enjoying life to the full and in no great hurry to go
So I think I’ll linger a bit and watch great grandchildren grow
I’m not so sure about this place called heaven, if it really exist,
Without a shred of evidence this unproven dream still persist
No pictures,reviews,memories nothing to confirm when or where
Just an ongoing dream, this holy place is somewhere up there.
It’s not the physical body,but the soul believers will loudly cry
That’s what goes to heaven with our last breath when we die
You’ll never see souls either except attached to your shoe
It’s difficult to understand how such vague ideas stick like glue
If it’s the same architect who built this wretched war torn place
I’m not so keen to spend any after life in this dubious space
There are those who’ve devoted their lives to a charitable role
With the expectation of landing in heaven, their lifelong goal
This is the pay off, a hell of a gamble if there’s nothing up there
nobody will ever know, not even them, if the cupboard is bare.
I can imagine the palaver of me trying to enter the golden gate
bolshy admin angel shouting and waving clipboard getting irate
‘Oy Dickhead where d’yer fink you’re going,you can’t go up there
That’s reserved for Saints, do-gooders & that bloke Sir Tony Blair,
You’re using an outdated password and youve filled in wrong form’
Come to think of it, that’s really like my life story, my earthly norm.
My Family Tree
If in the future you hear the odd burp & occasional breaking wind
You’ll know any ideas of me entering the holy place were binned
I will be content to settle in the boughs of this wonky heavenly tree
With treasured family memories that have been a real savior to me.
‘ But hang on a moment – I’m still here.!’