The Best of Times.

To tumble down grass field slopes
With friends in high pitched yells of “Geromimo”
Laughs from the belly as Bert boshed the cow-pat
His hand to his elbow in poo.

That day was just one in that short summer of delights
The weeded river soon unwrinkled Bert’s face
We all collapsed as a nearby cow farted
Words weren’t needed between us to find fun.

Each day a new adventure where grownups only frowned
Our secret camp deep in the woods, next to the split elm
Where we would sit in the damp leaves to sometimes talk
Of older brothers on call up in Korea, fighting the war.

Running back to the village, to be in time for children’s hour
Relishing the new wireless gleaming proud on Mum’s sideboard
Only this day was different – As I ran through the back door
Aunty Joan from next door had her arms round Mum – both crying.

The crumpled telegram with the black edges on the table
Told me even before I knew what it read………….


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