Remembering

Remembering When

As I remember looking back, all those memories I recall.

Each and every single one, even back when I was small.

I remember the summers and winters, each season passing through.

I remember Easter and Christmas, even every birthday too.

Memories of traditions, each one remained the same.

Sunday bike rides to visit our family, until Monday quickly came.

Dad would set off to work, in his lorry nights spent sleeping out.

Mum spent each week at home, telling herself not to scream and shout.

I remember holidays to the coast, in dads Granada we’d try to sing.

Ace of Base and Celine Dion, even a little Patsy Cline blasting.

Quick stay in the lay-by, for a burger and to pee.

Year after year it stayed the same, playing ‘eye spy’ my favourite game.

I remember on the beach, with my sisters in the sun.

Particularly that one year, poor Charlotte getting stung.

I remember well and have proof, a photograph of my sister.

Not sure who’s more angry though, Charlotte? Or her throbbing finger?

I remember a night in the caravan, this time Charlotte rolled out of bed.

Then came a loud thud, as the lamp shade fell on her head.

Scallywags the evenings, ‘Rollercoaster’ watching Mr Irie White.

Oh the Fantasy Island Dancers too, as my dad watched them in delight.

Mum and Dad playing Bingo, inside Panda Palace and the Arcades.

Pirate ships and jumping frogs, they were definitely the days.

I remember days at home, on the garden enjoying the heat.

Our feet would burn from the sunshine, trying to hop over hot concrete.

Mum loved to mow her lawn, I hated to smell fresh cut grass.

Water balloon fights every day too, mum would moan “pick them up off the path”.

One by one for school, she would shout for us to wake up.

Im positive she got louder, confirmed by the door slamming shut.

“Get up for school, or else I’m phoning your dad”.

Suddenly rushing out of bed, before steam came from her tabs.

How did they ever cope? Raising four teenage girls?

Don’t think dad handled it well, he used to have a head of curls.

As I’ve now grown older, . Understanding my mums pain.

I appreciate the life struggle, of calling your child by their right name.

Even now she still does it, then curses passing blame.

When she chose ‘T-T-E’, at the end of all our names.

Now I’m a parent, I see humour in old times,

I do the same as my mum, except these children are mine.

“We’re ya born in a barn?” Or “Put the wood In’t hole”.

Dad always saying ‘I’m nesh’, think he meant to say that he’s cold.

Saturday nights spent indoors, Catchphrase and then Blind Date.

Next was Gladiators and Casualty, how we loved to stay up late.

Up early on Sunday, off to watch the football.

Except the Empire team, they always ended in a brawl.

Also Paul and Denise, from over at number forty-three.

I was forever grateful , for her flasks of tea.

Back home getting warm, while mum cooks the roast.

Dad always mashed the potatoes, these are the days I miss the most.

I will always remember back, to those days of my childhood.

All the tears, giggles, and tantrums, bit most of all the love.

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