Growing up in a mining town was great
playing on the coal tips
Coming home black as the firegrate
But everything was dusty from the pits
The black mountains and smoke filled sky
The way of life was different those days
We had no cars to get by
Walking and horses were the transport ways
Sat on my doorstep at 2 o'clock
When day shift march past in song
Heading for the leaky tap pit stop
Where some stay all night long
We'd wait outside to hear the jokes and tales
From scrumpy soaked minds
Get home before darkness falls on Wales
Sharing a bed with two brothers all in line
No technology to deture us from adventures
No television ruling our nights
We had a piano for entertainment pleasure
Mother knitting as the open fire ignites
Sunday's tin bath in the kitchen
Father washed first then my brothers swills
By the time I got my dip in
The cold dirty water gave me chills
We had no bathroom just an outside loo
With newspaper dying your bum cheeks
Winter time was cold and cruel
With frozen windows that always leeked
I often sit and reminisce good times
When life was more simple then
I can always keep in my mind
Given the chance I'd do it all again
Categories:
minning, childhood, education, growing up,
Form: Rhyme