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Walton’s Scrapyard

Mr Walton was our local scrap man
He wore a great big hat
His yard was squeezed between 
Two terraced houses
And I was always amazed at that

The yard was full of junk
Rusting scrap
And old tat
Tangled up and piled up high
That was fascinating to a Nipper
Like I

Old bicycle frames 
Bits off boats
Bits off trains
Twin tubs boilers 
Old wire old prams 
Parts from a lorry and caravan
Wagon wheels  and engine blocks
Infarct If it wasn’t there
It didn’t exist 
Because he had the lot 

At the back of the yard built up high
He had a pigeon loft aloft
A rat fest I’m pretty sure
I used to watch his pigeons fly around in flocks
Thirty forty Racing pigeons
Maybe more

Us Nippers would scavenge the common
Lie marauding Vikings
Pillaging tips and hedgerow
For metal to be weighed down
To make a few pennies
Or even half a crown

Copper and lead
Made the most brass
And suddenly things went missing
From the White city fast
Mysteriously

A bike left carelessly by a door
Old boiler and wires from an empty house
Piping under the floor
The garden swing
 From next door
Please don’t tell
But anything we could sell

Your Mum would turn around 
To wash your clothes
Washing machine gone
Just a leaky hose

We’d burn the plastic of the copper wire
That stunk worse than a burning tyre
Tie it in nots or twists
Put it in a sack
And that was that

Off to Mr Walton's
Happy as Larry to weigh it in
And come out 
With a pocket full of pennies
In us shorts and a grin

Merrily we’d go
Off toward the sunset
Toe to toe
To the Beeroff
To buy some pop
Spic and fags
With our dough

Yes, we liked to borrow things in those days
Unlike the kids of today
Ooh how shocking.








Peter Dome©2019.

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