Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Reader's Poem

Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Reader's Poem

Article excerpt

RINGTONS TEA IT was Ringtons Tea or Earl Grey, Served by Mummy in the Malings, We used to be a bit swanky then, Before they took away the railings. They've put in an Anderson shelter, Down the garden behind the house, I've got a box with a gas mask in it, That looks like Mickey Mouse. We've helped Mum put sticky tape, Across each window pane, In case a bomb falls near us from, An enemy aeroplane.

My brother is a big boy now, But Mum wishes he was littler, Dreading the day he must go away, To do his bit against Hitler.

Daddy went off to sea a while ago, Smart in his navy blue, Brave captain of a frigate, he was, Lost with all his crew.

Now just when Mum, I'm sure, has, A real need for me, I stand here labelled at the station, An unwilling evacuee.

DON HENDERSON, Holmside Avenue, Gateshead.

SATURDAYS AT THE ROCK 'N ROLL CLUB SATURDAY night and I was rarin' to go, Caught a bus to Hebburn for the rock 'n roll, Jitterbug jiving, doing the stroll, Dancing with the people that I used to know. DJ Dave was king of the decks, My request was always next, Rockin' out to blue jean bop, Don't Be Cruel and Jailhouse Rock. Girls with spinning ponytails, Jived with lively, lacquer-quiffed males, Crepes and drapes and bootlace ties, Flat shoes, fishnets, cute cats' eyes! Mr Big Feet filled the floor, Everyone called out for more, How I loved to dance all night, Underneath those ballroom lights. How the evening went so fast, Saved the smoochie 'til the last, With a Ted so sharply dressed, Hebburn Legion was the best. TRICIA BROWN, South Shields.

OF YESTERDAY IT was the last time I saw her, the smile, Her kiss, She walked through the kitchen, keys swinging. Parting is a monster, a dragon that can appear Anytime it wishes.

It doesn''t breath fire - it breathes sadness, It ripples, it's contagious, spreading during A lifetime So much crying, when love lies bleeding, time to Face it, or turn and run, To face it can mean becoming its slave; It is the silence, it hums in your ears, rings like A bell, there only after its gone; Yet life moves on.

Memories are replaced by that which happened Yesterday, for present is hard to inure and endure, Death will always return to remind you. …

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