Our childhood memories remain the best, the happy times, fantastic,
Ovaltineys, Bash Street Kids,
Playing out, banging dustbin lids,
Bare feet, cobbled street,
Playing in sand, in the scorching heat,
Smell of new baked bread, penny loaves,
Kids would queue, in their droves.
Freezing cold day, winter broth,
Cooking leek pudding, tied up in a cloth,
Roaring coal fires, toasting bread,
Bathed in a tin tub, and off to bed,
Washday, in the back yard, with dolly
Tub and mangle, I used to help mam out,
By turning the handle.
Donkey stone, cardinal steps, was every
I used to watch mam, whilst leaning on the door,
Proggy mats, knitted hats, and dresses,
Made from crepe paper,
Union jacks, piggy backs, and sweets on ration,
We would savour,
Pictures on a Saturday morning, was our
The magical organ, would come out of the floor,
Right underneath our feet.
Bywell’s store laden with toys, was every,
Child’s dream wistfully gazing into the windows,
On their way for a Mark Toney’s ice cream,
Castor oil, spoonful of malt,
To cure all kinds of ills,
Dirty Dicks, the herbalist shop,
With every sort of pills,
Liberty bodice, long woolly socks,
Mitts on bits of elastic.
Our childhood memories, remain the best,
The happy times, fantastic,
Coronation, celebrations, parties in the street,
Tables lined from end to end,
With scones and cakes to eat,
Children of the Empire, were proud and strong,
And true, the future of our heritage,
Suffering of a country, and what families
Had to go through.