Childhood Memories

I was happy when I was a lad.
It wasn't all good, but it wasn't half bad.

We played with sticks we played with stones;
we built ourselves dens that we called homes.

We explored the woods, we climbed the trees,
and we played with marbles on our knees.

Conkers in season we threaded with string.
If your opponent missed, your knuckles would sting.

We built trolleys with old pram wheels.
We were often too busy to go home for our meals.

We made catapults, bows and arrows and spears,
quite often resulting in painful tears.

We scrumped apples, plums and pears;
of getting caught, we had no cares.

In fact, we were often caught, and our ears clipped,
no smart replies - we never lipped.

During the long school summer holidays when the sun shone bright,
we played outside from morning to night.

War games, tin can tommy, hide and seek,
Such fun we'd have, what havoc we'd wreak.

Raiding allotments, pinching what grew.
We'd get a good hiding if our parents knew.

Round blazing open fires on logs we would sit.
In the pitch-black night our faces it lit.

We'd have singsongs and tell tales of ghosts,
of things we had done, exaggerated boasts.

Now looking back, such a long time it seems.
Sometimes I wonder was it all in my dreams.

But then I remember all the things that I did
could only be done when I was a kid!