Saturdays

By Helen Haden

Reader news

12 July 2010 16:16

As a child I loved to skip
Down the road to the Saturday flicks.
I would stop on the way to pick my rocks,
Four fruit salads and a couple of chocs.

I sat in the front row with my best friend,
Enthralled with Flash Gordon, will he last to the end?
Booing and cheering and swinging on seats,
Stuffing our mouths full of chocolates and sweets.

Pictures finished we made our way home,
Socks round our ankles, our hair needs a comb.
Untidy and scruffy, what’s all the fuss?
It was Saturday, no school, it was paradise to us.

A tomato sauce sandwich to fill our insides,
What we doing this after? We tried to decide.
Shall we go to the park and play on the swings,
Or stay at home and play house and other kinds of things.

I know, let’s take the bottles back, there’s three pence on each,
Then we’ll ask Mr. Glynn if he’ll sell us a peach,
Or an apple, an orange, a banana would be nice,
Who cares about fruit, he can sell us an ice!

Eating our ice loll we’d go down the park,
Up and down on the seesaw, the swings were a lark.
Then a quick drink of water from the metal chained cup,
Being chased by the Parky for running amuck.

Exhausted and hungry we walked up the hill home,
Playing tag, hide and seek, or just kicking a stone.
Billy Bunter was calling, and Willy the Wisp,
R. Whites lemonade and a packet of crisps.

It was Saturday night and our Dad bought us treats,
Fire blazing, he slouched, up the hearth were his feet.
He checked off his pools, “Have we won Dad?” “Don’t be a dope.”
A fortune to spend, we could all live in hope.

Washed and undressed and ready for bed,
The climb up the stairs in the dark I would dread.
“Leave the light on the landing,” I’d shout to my mum,
“OK love, God Bless, sweet dreams,” she would hum.