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Hello, What do y’ know?

We brew, not mash, our tea.

We have our own words,

Gradely.

And mills and canals

There were whit walks and carnivals

There were horses with plumes

at funerals.

Front rooms, pea soup and hot pot

We’d meet at the bustop

When brown sauce butties were Tip –Top.

There were corner shops,

Vans with fish fruit and beef

And a donkey stone from the rag man

To keep the step clean

Wash it down then polish it white.

We got by

We were alright.

We knew our place, mining, cotton, and sewing

Posser, dolly and mangle

Unemployment was ruin.

(I’m beginning to think I had a privileged upbringing

we had carpet when others had lino or nothing)

Ooh, the smell of baking when we made bread

Barm cakes and muffins.

Pennies and farthings, silver threepenny bits

We knew the prices of things - bikes were tuppence an hour.

Until we had the money we didn’t pay

It was shame to have debt and take charity

You just tried to live in a reasonable way.

At 11 our way was decided,

You accepted your lot

It was not like today

There was more open space.

Unless her husband was dead

Monday was washday

Shopping was everyday

Clean the house from top to bottom

We lived in rented accommodation.

Chickens and pigeons

We had all kinds of pies to make

There was custard and currant cake.

Jam pie and rice pie was nice pie

Lamb on a Sunday then

Lob scouse on Monday –

“Hooray”, some, but not all, say.

There was more discipline at school

The teacher would hit you with a rule

If you didn’t show respect.

We ate gruel –

The oatmeal and milk

Is why we’ve lasted so long,

I expect.

We put a gill in our jugs

In the pantry on slabs

Meat in the meat safe.

We felt safe in those days,

The family was strong

Under one roof, old and young

We all used to belong.

For years I looked after my mum.

We stayed local.

Walk, bike, trolley or tram

Or maybe went

To Salt's Café in Southport

We made our own entertainment.

There was no computers, no phones and no toilet rolls

But gas mantles and fires with coal

Sometimes I’d hide down the old os’hole,

But the best treat of all was a day out in Parbold.

A montage poem created by Roger Sim from a list of memories generated in a workshop with Age Concern Wigan 2004

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c. 2007