"We shall not cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first time." (T S Eliot)
"A dark and chanted verse is what I am." (
Forough Farrokhzad)

Sunday, August 5, 2012


The following poem (author unknown) was sent to me by an old friend.  Obviously he has a very keen eye for genuine nostalgia that makes us wonder whether somewhere we went wrong.  The picture features the magnificent Three Sisters.

I remember the cheese of my childhood
And the bread that we cut with a knife,
When the children helped with the housework,
And the men went to work not the wife.
The cheese never needed a fridge,
And the bread was so crusty and hot,
The children were seldom unhappy
And the wife was content with her lot.

I remember the milk from the Billy,
With the yummy cream on the top,
Our dinner came hot from the oven,
And not from the fridge in the shop.
The kids were a lot more contented,
They didn't need money for kicks,
Just a game with our mates in the paddock,
And sometimes the Saturday flicks.

I remember the shop on the corner,
Where a pen'orth of lollies was sold
Do you think I'm a bit too nostalgic?
Or is it....I'm just getting old?

I remember when the 'loo' was the 'dunny',
And the pan man came in the night,
It wasn't the least bit funny
Going out the back  with no light.
The interesting items we perused,
From the newspapers cut into squares,
And hung on a peg in the outhouse,
It took little to keep us amused.

The clothes were boiled in the copper,
With plenty of rich foamy suds
But the ironing seemed never ending
As Mum pressed everyone's 'duds'.

I remember the slap on my backside,
And the taste of soap if I swore
Anorexia and diets weren't heard of
And we hadn't much choice what we wore.
Do you think that bruised our ego?
Or our initiative was destroyed
We ate what was put on the table
And I think our life was better enjoyed.

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