A humorous look at life during the formative years of the 1950's, written mainly in Northern English dialect.
The year is 1952 in England and 'Our Jim' is found living on the outskirts of a Northern town in what was then, a semi-rural area. He lives with his mum, dad and maternal grandfather.
'Our Jim' is six years old, TODAY!
A poem from the book:
Child of the Fifties
Child of the 50's, come along with me
Play 'I spy' with your minds-eye, tell me what you see
Look out of your window now, the spring-time is here
Turn back to those 'dog-eared' pages to, a time you once lived here.
I see jars full of frogspawn, swinging by the gate
Destined for a garden where, the old sink lays in wait
A gang of trailing 'little-uns', following behind
Excited fascination, running wild within their minds.
There's Bogeys on the back lane, with shiny buckled wheels
Cows peering through the railings, as we speed along the fields
Swop drivers at the pylon, and rush back along the lane
I never saw that bumpy bit, toes in the spokes again.
Child of the 50's, come along with me
Play 'I spy' with your minds-eye, tell me what you see
Look out of your window now, the summer-time is here
Turn back those 'dog-eared' pages to, a time you once lived here.
I see 'Cowies' chasing 'Injuns', across the dusty plains
Robin Hood and Little John crafting, bows to play their game
Scabby, scarry elbows, retribution from the trees
Marble-bags slapping, on their dirty, skin-grazed knees.
The whacking of the skipping rope, girls chanting along
Hopscotch, three balls on the wall, clapping games and songs
A sailor went to sea, you see, and they sang of their betrothed
Child of the 50's, come along with me
Play 'I spy' with your minds-eye, tell me what you see
Look out of your window now, the autumn-time is here
Turn back those 'dog-eared' pages to, a time you once lived here.
I see conkers dangling on a string, wrapped tightly on my wrist
Bruised knuckles from my best pal, 'cause his glasses didn't fit
But he's the best at climbing trees, shaking conkers to the ground
Crispy leaves like cornflakes fly, he was faster coming down.
Dress your mate and wheel him around, a penny for the Guy?
Bonfires, fireworks, rip-wraps, coughing 'till you cry
Plates of treacle, toffee apples, hot-spuds black as coal
Milk bottles for your rockets, screaming Pinwheels on a pole.
Child of the 50's, come along with me
Play 'I spy' with your minds-eye, tell me what you see
Scrape the icy window now, that winter-time is here
Turn back those 'dog-eared' pages to, a time you once lived here.
I see dad's army greatcoat, that pinned me to my bed
Porridge steaming in a bowl, and crusty toasting bread
A red-hot poker in the fire, to warm the household through
'Shut that door it's bloody cold! Born in a barn were you?'
Across the brook and snowy fields, snowball fights abound
Wet feet in wellies full of snow, that made a 'trumping' sound
Freezing hands that felt so hot, in pockets full of holes
Mum's voice floats above the ponds, the time has come for home.
