~
long before the advent of
ready meals, when bread and
dripping was considered as
fast-food by us village kids,
I knew a peculiar local chap
who grew mushrooms
in an old shallow ceramic sink
just outside his back door,
he kept them dark
under a couple of ancient
Co-op coal sacks
that mysteriously were full
of anthracite when he acquired them,
he used to force rhubarb too
under an old galvanized bath tin
that his wife used religiously
to bath all eight of them,
albeit they always looked
mucky at school my mother said,
in later life he took to wearing
a surgical corset on account of
a mythical bad back, which
kept him from regular work,
even in a good summer,
when stripped to the waist
save for the corset,
he’d stroll down to the paper shop
to cash his giro, looking like
an under-nourished Spartacus,
he famously won a grand
on Littlewood’s pools,
a lot of money in those days,
the kids each had new duffle coats
although the steward of the
Working Mens’ Club saw most of it,
sadly, some would say not,
he came to a sticky end
by foolishly stepping out
in front of a stationary bus
at the shelter, his favourite haunt
for picking up dog-ends
for his eclectic roll-ups,
his missus, a noisy scrawny
terrier of a woman
had to go out cleaning after that
although my mother would be fond
of saying that she ought to start
with her own house first
*
© Graham R Sherwood 12/23
