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Freezing Monday, your fingers are numb
Hurry on home to the fire and Mum.
Walk in the back and sniff the air,
The smell of lovely Cottage Pie is there.
Come home on Tuesday,stomach rumbling,
Mum's made a pan of Stew n Dumpling.
Is there an onion in there for me?
Go wash your hands and wait and see.
Wednesday it's the poor man's treat,
Thick sliced bread and potted meat.
Thursday comes, 'what's for tea' I cry,
It's hot n tasty, a Shepherds Pie.
When Friday comes you know the dish,
Even though we're not Catholic, it's fish!
Saturday,out comes the brown earthenware pot,
filled with whatever meat that Mum has got,
Veg and lentils,simmering in a thick Bisto stew
With a thick suet crust , I'm raring to chew.
Sunday in our house wasn't special as I recall,
If Mum's purse was empty, no meat at all
But no matter what, we kids never starved,
Whatever came in was equally halved
Whether fruit or meat or bread we didn't care.
Mum divided it up and we each got a share.
It must have worked out, back when I were a kid,
Because I'm here now to tell of what Mum did.

© Dave Timperley February 23 2017

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