Nostalgia
I remember:
Giant women, uniforms of black and white;
chewy toffee filled with fizz
my tongue, a funny coloured hue
Catapults would launch our bombs
while bendy bow, if deftly used
could send a missile twenty feet
and leave a rebel army bruised
A smiling girl was just a tool
We played and died with such finesse
held back tears, cos… we were real men
and knew, to shed a tear…would not impress
We’d build with ingenuity
Dams, dens…swings of knotted rope
traverse raging swells of make believe
whilst always hating soap
Baggy-arsed, in trousers short
and sleeveless v-necked woollen top
we’d take our lives within our hands
swing out wide, let go and feel the drop
Bikes so tall, we had to stretch our joints
or ride with leg pushed through the frame
and peddle in an awkward, slantwise crouch
Hands reaching up, the handle bars to tame
Sugar butty snacking, in the dark
against a damp brick kitchen wall;
fearful of, an uncles belt or fist
terrified of being made…to take the fall
Nights counting coffins, in burning coals;
seeing faces change…seeing terrors cold
waiting for that key to turn inside that lock
someone new, to slap this face so bold
Mildewed army greatcoats, strewn across the bed
would suffocate the noise…would confiscate the welt;
touch of rotting clothing, around the faceless boy
soaked up tears, that no one saw…that no one ever felt
I remember:
Shrill laughter, childish squeals;
cycling down a country hill, at breakneck speed
using plastic sandals, to act as breaks on wheels
Hardened gum, from off the floor
had a certain taste, it was…perfection;
after taking turn, to savour this confection
next in line would take the gum…and never give rejection
Wheel-less rusted cars, with smelly leather seats;
would flash through streets at ninety mile an hour
I would be the driver, chasing…all the uncles from my life
behind a shiny steering wheel, somehow…I had that power
Twenty screaming urchins;
sharing two ice creams, “me”, “me”, “me”, would do the trick
slowly melting scoops of joy were shared
and every screaming urchin…got a lick
Swapsies, swapping toys and treasures;
cards with well known faces, made the day
chipping chipped glass marbles, into mucky holes
well worn shoes, boots…only fit for play
Carbonated pop, wooden swords for fighting
bloody nose…mixed with runny snot;
always trying something new, pretending
wanting…to be, that something we were not
Pulling faces, throwing stones at silly Mr Jelly Jones
getting ears pulled, arses slapped…told to go away;
rosy-redness from the slaps, would be put on display
once we raised our scraggy pants, we’d laugh with proud hooray
Saturday matinee, sneak thief viewers;
only posh kids paid…we had no need of usherette
intermission… sweets, goodies, such a stir
seldom knew that velvet taste…of chocolate
Weekday swims, wet drooping draws;
water warmed, by hulking factory vent
emergence into wind whipped chill
standing stooped, elbows bent…all our effervescence spent
Adventure craved; adventures lived
on train; on bus…a chariot to youngsters eye
took childish soul, upon a seat and gave it wings to dance
though every day upon return, sad child, a little more would die
I remember:
Raging fists; stinging leather on my cheek
I remember:
Pride… at holding back the tears, for oh so many, many years
I remember:
Pain so sweet, as size ten boots would stamp down hard…upon my feet
I remember most of all:
a car with nuns…that came to call
and how my mother smiled that day
The day she gave my life away
to uniforms of black and white
–William Marsland
