Childhood

My grandad came to visit and the memories would flow

About the clothes prop salesman and the call of the “Rabbito”

He’d sell his fresh, plump bunnies and into the pot they’d go

Along with turnips and taters, beans and the odd choko.

A tablespoon of castor oil was Grandma’s weekend ‘treat’

Because it kept us ‘regular’ despite the germs we’d eat

By drinking from the garden hose all coiled up nice and neat

Right beside the ducks’ pen and their filthy mucky feet.

The Rawleigh’s man would visit with his pills and potions too

And Grandma then would mix us up some awful tasting goo.

“Now open wide and drink this up. I know what’s good for you”

And we’d bravely drink the mixture and try hard not to spew.

Cause if we brought it up again, we’d cop another lot

And that would make us really crook – more often so than not!

No self-respecting germ would bother with our lot

Once grandma saw the Raleigh’s man & all the stuff he’d got.

Times were mostly good, you know, when I was just a kid

We mostly came home in one piece, no matter what we did

We got our bumps and bruises and lost a bit of skin

With go-carts made from useful bits we’d rescued from the bin.

And in our backyard cricket games, fence paling as a bat

A lot of Bradman hopefuls turned up to have a catch

The ‘little’ kid was always picked and had his turn at bat

And if he got a run or two, was really proud of that.

If we were short a fielder, the old blue dog would play

But getting back the balls he caught could nearly take all day.

Because he’d see the bowler coming and run the other way

And then the chase was really on before he got away.

Back then there was no need to win, the fun was just to play.

But kids today don’t get that chance – it’s not the coach’s way.

And whether you agree or not, there’s one thing I would say

I’m glad my childhood happened then, back in the good old days.