Oh how I miss the olden days
When people helped everyone else
Now no-one does anything for nothing
People are just out for themselves

I remember the close-knit communities
Doing favours for one another
When people had respect
For their father and their mother

It breaks my heart to think about
How much times have changed
Family-life a thing of the past
And kin-folk are estranged

What has happened to family values
And care in the community?
People shunning responsibility
At every opportunity

Children going home from school
No home-cooked food on the table
Mum and dad both out at work
A stable home life is now a fable

Sitting very quietly, looking at a blank page
Prompted me to pen a poem about toys that were all the rage
I had some wooden jigsaw blocks when I was only two
In a wooden  box with a shiny brass clasp
And a picture of Winnie the Pooh

I remember at the age of six, when I was given some stickle bricks
Plastic shapes so colourful, with brushes of small plastic fingers
Making a train of red, yellow and green, the memory of it still lingers
Then at the age of seven, I remember ‘coming a cropper'
When dared by my cousins to bounce up the street
On their big and orange space-hopper

When I was eight, my favourite toy was a plastic daredevil skydiver
Many parachute jumps from the top of the stairs, that guy was a true survivor
When I was nine, the Spirograph, a drawing toy based on gears,
Was my favourite toy to play with, watching marvellous patterns appear

At ten years old I found building with Meccano lots of fun
Metal strips and gears and nuts and bolts, invented in 1901
When I was eleven the Rubik’s Cube was really all the rage
With coloured squares, six sides of nine, a puzzle for any age

At the age of twelve, Shinsai  Mystery was my fave
Two eight-hinged polyhedra could be folded into many shapes
At the age of thirteen, my baby brother was born
His favourite toy was Lego, my love of building things was reborn
There are many toys of yesteryear, would take ages to mention the rest
But for me, after all these years, Lego will always be the best

What will they do with Grandma, now that she is old?
No longer able to fend for herself, by her home-help they've been told
She's always been there for her children but now none of them want to know
Keeping a roof over all of their heads, not all that long ago

She's been the peacemaker for all of her kids, when relationships hit a bad patch
They've all forgotten just how much she did, though their partners she thought a mismatch
She put home-cooked food on their tables when their cupboards all were bare
Helped them to pay their bills, though none of them cared for her

She cooked them all good hearty meals, served them up on their own table
Sometimes she went without food herself, putting them first when she was able
Often she would dread the ringing of the phone
A sound that would usually be welcomed by someone who lived alone

But whenever her phone rang, she would feel very daunted
Wondering who the caller was, and what it was they wanted,
Would it be for money or babysitting duties?
Or maybe her knitting skills, making numerous pairs of booties

Grandma had to live somewhere but refused to go into a home
Frail and unable now to live on her own
Jim was asked to take her in, but he said that he couldn't
He'd always been a selfish man, it was more likely that he wouldn't

Katie said she had no room, but conveniently forgot to mention
That her husband, a bricklayer, had just built a new extension
So it was decided, Grandma would go into a home
The family went around and told her, she could no longer live alone

The greedy lots inheritance in their minds was already spent
But every penny that Grandma had saved, for her keep at the care home it went
Grandma did all sorts for her family, so she couldn’t understand
Why now she's in a care home they never go nearhand,

We now know of Grandma's fate, her story has been told
A lifetime of caring for family, unwanted because she got old

Florrie stands at the garden gate,
How much longer must she wait?
The Postman was due ages ago
What will he bring today for Flo

Junk mail or a pile of bills
Or a letter from her daughter Jill
Maybe a seed catalogue
Or a letter requesting she sponsor a dog

An offer of a new bank card
Or book-club offers of works by the Bard
Or a parcel from her sister Sally
Now living in the Rhonda Valley

A letter about changing her energy supplier
They promise her a cheaper deal
Then the bills are higher
A spring catalogue from Ann Summers

Or a free sheet advertising plumbers
Oh postman, what is keeping you?
Florrie has better things to do
Than wait and wait and wait and wait
Shivering at the garden gate

Do you really know who you're talking to?
When you chat on the internet
When you play some online games
It's like playing 'russian roulette’

You think you're talking to a youngster
But it could be a grown-up
Hoping for a pic of you
Taken in close-up

They'll chat to you and suss you out
They'll flatter and cajole
Even though your mum and dad
Have installed parental control

They may try to groom you
And arrange for you to meet
We need to teach our children
To be far more discreet

To never disclose where they're living
Or where they go to school
If they have serious misgivings
To tell a parent is not uncool

The internet can be great
Helpful information it can provide
Don't leave it too late
In an adult you must confide

Be vigilant, keep yourself safe
Don't keep suspicions inside
Report suspect net users
Don't give them time to hide

Sometimes I sense my mother
When I walk into a room
Lily of the Valley lingers
Her favourite perfume

I really wish she was still here
So I could apologize
For all the many times
When we didn't see eye to eye

I had so much troubling me
But I chose to keep it in
Now I sit and ponder
On how different things could have been

I hated seeing her in pain
It was all beyond my control
I hope that she passed knowing
I loved her with my heart and soul

I'm putting down on paper
What I could not say aloud
I hope that if she were still here
I would make her proud

Mere words can not express
Just how much I regret
Losing my mum, my role model,
Who I never will forget

My father was a coalman ,when I was a little girl
Five ‘o’ clock each morning, coal-sacks on his shoulder he would hurl
Behind the wheel of a lorry at fourteen years of age
No driving licence did he have, for he was under-age

My dad he was a strapping lad, what you would call robust
Handsome, though you couldn't tell, face covered in coal-dust
When he would come home at night, he was quite a scary sight
All I could see was big brown eyes and teeth so pearly-white

He'd perch me on his saddle and wheel me up and down the lane
Even though he'd worked a ten hour shift and was in a lot of pain
He used to tell us stories, they always made us laugh
He told us about a lady who wanted her coal put in the bath

One day he was approached by an expectant mum called Florrie
She told him that her waters had broken, so he took her on the lorry
When she arrived at the hospital, her skin and clothes were black
She'd got there safely in one piece, surrounded by Nutty-Slack

Some customers would pay upfront, my dad his lesson learnt
When customers refused to pay for coal already burnt
If someone was short of money, he would fill up their coal-scuttle
But if he told his dad, the boss, his response would be unsubtle

Hardly anyone has coal fires now and this makes me very sad
But lots of people in the town remember the Coalman, ‘my dad’