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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