Gone are the days of playing our games
In those dusty streets where all was grey.

The games we played were great and cheap
Didn’t cost a penny playing down our street.

Where folk on doorsteps would tell their tales
And our chatty postman would deliver our mail.

Where hooters blew at the foundry each day
And dirty faces walked your way.

When thick broths were made, and cowheel pie
Only cheap cuts of meat was all we could buy.

When jobs were plenty but money were dim
If a little left over we’d put in a tin.

When the landlord would call for his weekly rent
No money in my purse on food it was spent.

“Posh what was that word! Never heard it before?
Yet happy days in lots of ways! We knew nothing more”.

Patricia Preece ( A Blackburn Lass )