by, 06-08-2012 at 05:50 AM (1068 Views)
He said that the best time was when the
Wheat was just inches high in the fields.
Flat, rolled out land, naked to the sky.
Not for him was the joy of the windswept wheat,
The time when summer was dipping down for another year.
He liked the eager anticipation of what was to come.
The joy for me was the bend of Martin Dales,
For that was when I knew we had arrived.
Arrived for weeks and weeks,
The uncounted time of childhood really,
Uncounted time it passed so freely.
The old Cortina or before it the Maxi
Would make tire marks on the grass
As it pulled up, finally, outside the caravan.
And the crow haired neighbour would appear asking of our departure!
‘God that woman’ he would rage,
But calmly make the tea
Into that beloved plum cup
And help unpack the things from the box,
And place the keys by the door on the ‘best boozer’ mat.
Now we had arrived
And after the HP sauce had been
Stored away in the cupboard,
And things hung up,
Maybe we would have time, just maybe,
For a quick fish before dusk.