My Grandmother's Hands

My Grandmother's hands told many tales
Of scrubbing steps and broken nails
Hand-washing clothes in enamel sink
Red football socks turned white towels pink

When not baking cakes at the old gas stove
Rag-rugs with old scraps of material she wove
Pantry shelves filled with powdered egg
Homemade rice pudding sprinkled with nutmeg

Sea-coal burning on an open coal fire
Bread on a toasting fork burning like a pyre
Grandma plumping up pillows from beneath granda’s head
Applying ointment to sores caused by being confined to bed

Hours spent at auctions bidding with her hand
Buying an incomplete bed wasn't what she planned
Back home in time for tea, crumpets and homemade strawberry jam,
I can still recall the smell of it, bubbling in the pan

Switching tv channels with a flick of her wrist
That’s how we did it back then, when remotes did not exist
Working hard all of her life, meeting everyone's demands

Every line and wrinkle told a story
On my Grandmother's hands

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

My door is always open
My kettle is always on
I’m here with a shoulder
For you to cry upon

You can tell me anything
Your secrets I can keep
You can phone me anytime, day or night
Even when I am asleep

If you live in solitude
Or your heart is filled with grief
If you suffer from low self-esteem
I can build your self-belief

I am everybody’s rock
But who is there for me?
Who cares for the carer?
I think you will agree

The more you do for others,
The less they do for you
It's the way society is now
But that is just my view.

I look into the mirror
And who is that I see?
Someone I don't recognise
Is looking back at me

The lines upon the forehead
That are called ‘worry lines'
Are caused by getting stressed
Far too many times

A line next to the right eyebrow
It’s the liver that's to blame
Due to excess alcohol
Or so the doctors claim

The line next to the left eyebrow
Is connected to the spleen
So much for thinking the body
Is like a finely-tuned machine

At the corner of both eyes
Are very deep crow’s feet
These are connected to all organs
As they admit defeat

We used to call them ‘smile lines'
But not much smiling has been done
When you have ill-health
Life is not much fun

Black bags under the eyes
Are signalling poor circulation
Or maybe just a lack of sleep
Nightmares without an explanation

The pancreas could be at fault
If there are ‘laughter lines'
But they could just be caused
By laughing numerous times

Lines above the upper lip
They could be caused by smoking
But they also indicate spleen trouble
Those lines are thought-provoking

Lines upon the neck
Otherwise known as a ‘double-chin’
Can be caused by too much gluten
Putting a thyroid in the spin

In the mirrors reflection
There are so many lines to see
Then I realise the person in the mirror
Yes, it’s me!

Today is Monday, pension day
Tommy is standing in the queue
Behind him is his neighbour
Who everyone calls Nosey Sue

In front of him is Carol
Who works in the general dealers
He saw her in town the other day
In her clapped-out Reliant three-wheeler

The queue is getting longer
And the odour isn't nice
It’s a mixture of sweat and eau de cologne
And some guy is wearing 'old spice'

Carol turns to Tommy and says
“There’s a lot of bills that need paying”
He sees Sue listen attentively
To hear what they are saying

Sue tells them both
“Gas and electric are getting dear”
Carol says “you shouldn’t have been listening” with a sneer
Sue looks put-out and turns her back on them
A heavy smoker at the front coughs
And says his chest is full of phlegm

The  girl behind the counter says “too much information”
The man laughs and discloses he's on the list
For a knee operation
Tommy is tired of waiting
While others stand without a care
He sees a woman further back
Spraying perfume in the air

One of Tommy’s neighbours
Her name is Bernadette
Though attached to an oxygen supply
Says she's gasping for a cigarette
Tommy tells her she should pack them in
But she says with a wry smile
“It’s the smoking that keeps me thin
It wouldn’t be worthwhile”

The queue is getting shorter
Tommy is almost at the front
Heavy smoker spits on the floor
But no-one dares confront

Carol pays her bills
And bids Tommy goodbye
Sue gives her a ***** look
But she has no idea why

Tommy is now at the counter
His pension to collect
The cashier hands him the money
And asks him to check it’s correct

Tommy’s been given a fiver too much
And hands the extra over
Sue comments that if it had happened to her
She'd have been in clover

The cashier thanks Tommy for being honest
Sue says she thinks he's mad
“Honesty's the best policy” Tommy asserts
“It’s a thing of the past and that’s sad”

Sue smirks and says “You’re a fool, Tommy Jones
I'd have kept it without a thought,
Think of all the little treats
That fiver would have bought”

Tommy says to Sue, up-close so she can hear
“I may not have that extra fiver, but my conscience it is clear”
He bids farewell to Bernadette
Still gasping for a smoke
And waves his hand to the rest of the queue
Even though they've never spoke

Sue says “I’ll see you again next week
Or maybe some other time
And I hope the cashier makes a mistake
Then that fiver will be mine”

Tommy smiles at her and thinks
‘Will she ever learn?”
He hopes the cashier doesn't slip up
When it is Sue's turn

A curled-up bundle of skin and hair
Adorns the window-seat
The sorry remains of Kitty
The old lady down the street

To those who saw her struggle daily
With her heavy shopping trolley
All of her ignorant neighbours
And her estranged sister Polly

To all of the people
Who used to stand and laugh
Here lies Kitty, loner Kitty
Written on her epitaph

Kitty was a lonely soul
No family or friends had she
Only the teenagers two doors down
Tony, Beth and Marie

They'd pop in on pension day
And ask her for a loan
With no intention of paying her back
Got money for drugs then left her alone

Just the other day
She'd decided to have a look
In the sideboard drawer
For her pension book

The book wasn't where she'd put it
In the right-hand drawer
Maybe she'd done like two weeks ago
Dropped it on the post-office floor

Mrs Kemp had brought it round
Said she'd noticed it after she'd left
She stressed she was lucky that it had been found
Nearly a victim of I.D theft

Her state benefit had been cut
Though not told the reason why
Thinking about rent and energy bills
She'd often sit and cry

Tony, Beth and Marie are banging on the door
What do they want from Kitty?
They've had it all and they want more

Kitty is now at peace
Her maker she has met
She died alone in squalor
Her heart filled with regret

The council fumigated the house
Used disinfectant till it was replete
The only evidence of Kitty
A large stain on the window seat

There are so many like Kitty
But no-one cares ask why
Abandoned by society
And left alone to die

All that remained of Kitty
Was curled up on the window-seat
The quiet soul with no-one
The old lady down the street

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

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

I remember as a little girl
On a visit to an aunt’s friends house
I was sitting reading a story book
As quiet as a mouse

I asked to be pardoned
To go to the loo
They were all playing dominoes
So I knew what I must do

I opened up the door
And placed my foot on the first stair
Then I heard someone in a low voice say
“Are you sure that she's all there”?

I felt a tear run down my cheek
I was doing what I ought
Only speaking when I was spoken to
That's what I was taught

When I’d done what I had to do
I went back down the stairs
The domino game was finished
And there were four empty chairs

They were all in the kitchen
Drinking cups of tea
My aunt she turned to me and smiled
And handed a cup to me

She noticed my tear-stained face
And stroked it with her hand
I told her what I’d overheard
She said I was too young to understand

I was insecure throughout my childhood
Never felt like I fitted in
Undernourished because I wouldn't eat
Now I’d just be classed as thin

From the age of five
My time at school was fleeting
Feigning illness to avoid the bullies
And escape another beating

I remember cowering
In the corner of the school yard
Cigarette butts stubbed out on my arms
Left painful, sore and charred

Name-calling and violence
Made me feel inferior
Set upon by bullies
Who thought they were superior

When I became a teenager
Things they got much worse
The bullies were now older
Younger ones they would coerce
To taunt me and lie in wait
And leave me in a battered state

When i got my first job
The bullying it went on
Because my face didn't fit
I was put upon

Got lumbered with the ***** jobs
That no-one else would do
Like swilling down the filthy yard
And scrubbing the outside loo

One afternoon, the manageress
Secretly asked me whether
I would do ****** favours for a delivery man
And I reached the end of my tether

I got my coat and quit the job
Never looking back
I later heard that the manageress
Was found out and got the sack

Now that I am older
No-ones victim will I be
I stand my ground, nobody’s fool
And i am happy being me

Why, oh why can't I get to sleep?
I've tried everything like counting backwards
And even counting sheep


Lavender oil on pillow
Or a hot and milky drink
Why is it when I go to bed
I always lay and think?


Have I locked all the doors
And switched off all the lights?
Tired all the next day
Due to sleepless nights


I really need to switch off
From the worries of the day
But things that have happened
On my mind they play


I need to cut down on my caffeine
Cos my B.P. is hitting the roof
It's one of the reasons I lay awake
I don't need anymore proof


It's a small price to pay for a decent night’s sleep
So now I will finish this rhyme
Off to Dreamland I’ll go with a calm rested mind?
Till the alarm on my clock starts to chime

Sing no sad songs when I pass
As sunlight filters through stained glass
Though you look upon me as I lay
In front of you all on this mournful day

Think of times recent and of times past
Think only of me when you saw me last
Full of life and fun and love
Before my journey up above

Think of all the times we had
Some were joyous, many sad
The beautiful places that we went
The camping trip to picturesque Kent

The occasional times when we fell out
When your mind was filled with doubt
But our differences we resolved
When people ceased to get involved

I want to see you all in colours bright
That will fill me with delight
I really hope you won't spend hours
Trying to find the perfect flowers

Donate to charity, learn the art of giving
In my opinion, flowers are for the living
Make sure they play my favourite song
I'd like everyone to sing along

You'll all be upset beyond belief
Know now I’ll understand your grief
I'll see the tears on your face
But be assured I’m in a better place

I'm now at peace and out of pain
Looking forward to when we meet again
I've gone on ahead, I’ll stand and wait
For you to meet me at the gate

I'll smile at you and you'll smile back
I hope you won't be wearing black
Then I’ll take your hand in mine
And we'll be together for all time

Molly suffers from depression
She's had it for ages
It's okay to sit next to her
What she's got isn't contagious

She sees you look at her with pity
But that isn't what she needs
She tries to look after herself
Her appearance it misleads

She feels constantly tired
The fatigue it gets her down
She hopes she might feel better
If she has a trip into town

She thinks that she might pop
Into the cafe for a bite
But since she's been depressed
She hasn't had much appetite

A good night's sleep
Is a distant memory
Going to bed at ten at night
Then up and wide-awake at three

She feels so worthless
And waits for the phone to ring
Usually a family member
Wanting a loan of something

She remembers how she used to feel
Before she was depressed
When she didn't feel so irritable
And was hardly ever stressed

She feels a sense of anguish
A let-down to her family
They all seem to see
Her depression as a malady

The loss of her old self
Causes her great sadness
Her family tells their friends
That Molly suffers from a madness

They think that it is funny
But don't realise the hurt
That they cause to Molly
If only to her former self she could revert

They ring her up for no reason at all
They say it’s all in fun
Her depression lost her all of her friends
At the mercy of daughter and son

Depression is an illness
That can happen to us all
No matter how much money you have
It’s something you can not forestall

If by chance one day
You see Molly in the town
Why not stop and say hello
Make her smile instead of frown

Ask her how she is today
Enquire what she has bought
Depression is an illness
Not a disease that can be caught

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

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

There was a house at the end of my street
No-one lived there for very long
During the war, an entire family wiped out
When an aeroplane dropped a bomb

The family living there at the time
Amounted to unlucky thirteen
Mother, father, baby Mary
And ten children in between

They were a lovely family
Liked by everyone
Janet Smithson who was a nurse
And her hard-working husband John

They were in the front room having tea
On that fateful day
When an aeroplane scored a direct hit
And God took them all away

The whole town was in mourning
For the Smithson family
Mother, father and eleven children
The youngest baby Mary who was three

What was left of the house was boarded up
Then the tenants would move in
Off would come the boards
The walls they were so thin

We'd hear their every movement
If they slammed a door, the walls would shake
Wild parties held by young teenagers
Would keep us all awake

A tenant would live there for a couple of months
Then they’d go on their way
We'd ask them why they were moving out
But none of them would say

This went on for many years
Tenants would come and go
I asked the landlord what was wrong
He said that he didn't know

One day I plucked up the courage
To question a tenant as they were about to leave
She said “I’m almost scared to tell you
I’ve never been one to believe

But there is something supernatural
Going on in the hall
When everything is quiet
We can hear screaming coming from the wall”

She said she'd looked on the internet
In the local branch library
And read up on the house's history
And the sad fate of the Smithson family

After years of squatters and standing empty
The house it was pulled down
But what happened to the Smithson’s
Is still remembered in my home town

Sitting on the bus not knowing where to look,
Lady in the seat in front engrossed in her book
Woman in seat opposite glances then looks away
Upon realising that the book is Fifty Shades of Grey,

“Is your book a good read?” she says “I can't tell by the cover”
The reader mutters “It’s a story about a girl and her wealthy handsome lover”
The woman gives a wry smile and looks down at her coat
She’d read it herself six months ago but wasn't one to gloat,

“I’m reading J.K. Rowling but it's not a Harry Potter,
It's called The Casual Vacancy, Simon Price is such a rotter”,
Silence falls and five minutes is spent,
Observing the appearance of an elderly gent

Immaculately dressed, both suited and booted,
Back-seat youths start to swear and the air is polluted,
The man shakes his head at 'the youth of today’
“Bring back conscription” the driver hears him say,

He reaches in his pocket and takes out a mobile phone
Twenty missed calls from cold-callers,
Why can't they leave him alone?

He looks across at the bookworm
The girl can sense his stare
He hesitantly asks her “what's that book called you've got there?”
She showed the man the cover and then he did declare
"Fifty Shades of Grey's an apt description of my hair"

Each and every day, Lizzie opens up a can,
Of tasty Salmon cat food for her beloved tabby Dan,
She's lived alone since Harry died, a victim of world war two,
Neighbours live at either side, but she's no idea who,

She remembers in the olden days, when people cared for one another,
Her many years, devoted carer for her father then her mother,
Her memory is not the same, a symptom of old age,
Each day in her past is just another page,

Everyday she takes her pills, the doctor says they'll cure her ills,
Red are for her heart and blood thinners they are green,
Complicated names but who knows what they mean?
Balsam for her chest, pink cream for her itch,
If someone made a pill for loneliness, they would be very rich,

A shadow on the window, a knock upon the door,
Dan's curled up on Lizzie's knee, but jumps down to the floor,
Cautiously she peeks out through the yellowed lace curtain,
She thinks she spies a relative, but she cannot be certain,
The chain is on the door, the door it is ajar,
Maybe it's a nephew visiting from afar?

“Hello there, can we come in to talk about your faith”?
She tells them “I’m an atheist” then slams the door with haste
Lizzie is alone in a world where no-one cares,
She's clutching several bottles as she makes her way upstairs
She walks into the bedroom, Dan is curled up on her bed,
Then lines up all her pills and gently shakes her head

She looks down at her wrinkled hands, and remembers them as in her youth,
Each line on her face tells a story, only she can see the truth,
As she looks in her full-length mirror, she's dismayed that her figure has gone,
Once an English rose, Oh where has the time gone?

She hears a sudden noise and Dan jumps down and hides
“Harry is waiting for you”, a soothing voice confides,
Lizzie feels at peace and she begins to smile
She brushes through her silver locks in their old familiar style

She reclines upon the bed ,all she can do is wait
She thinks of her true love Harry as he waits at Heaven's Gate
Will he still be debonair with sparkling eyes of blue?
The only man she'd ever loved, to whom she'd never said “I do”,

The wait was short and there he was, St Peter at his side,
Lizzie felt at peace and very gently sighed
Harry took her hand and through the gates they went
Lizzie was now free of a life of discontent

Her story has a moral, time is not ours to waste
Live life to the full because time can never be retraced.

What shall we do today?
Now the nest is empty
Not as much washing to do
When the kids lived at home there was plenty

Shall we go out for a meal?
A two-for-one meal deal will do
Instead of the usual bargain bucket
Which would feed a slew

Chicken wings and coleslaw and fries
And a large tub of chocolate ice-cream
Drew would eat more than his fair share
His love of fast food was extreme

When we get home from the restaurant
I'll look in the boys bedroom door
And i'll think how bare the carpet looks
With no discarded clothes on the floor

I'll lie in the bed and think
That the house is far too quiet
And think of when the kids were here
Music blaring and running riot

I feel a sense of loss
And feelings of rejection
I'm laid here with my loving spouse
But I feel a disaffection

I think that what we had is gone
I'm starting to wonder whether
Our children living at home
Were the glue that kept us together

I look in the empty wardrobe
And it looks so bare
I remember all of the clothes
That used to hang in there

The coat you wore to walk the dog
And the one you wore for best
The hat you always loved to wear
I said it looked like a bird’s nest

The blouse with lace you wore for weddings
And the jacket made of tweed
The numerous scarves of many colours
How many did you need?

Your faded wedding dress
That you hoped one day I’d wear
The veil to match hung with it
And the pearl slide for your hair

The purple dress you used to wear
When you sang in the youth choir
Strands still remained on the collar
Off that faux-fur stole you used to hire

Your pleated skirts of navy blue
Were folded in a drawer
Belts of matching colours
Hung inside the door

I look in the empty wardrobe
And think of what’s no longer there
And I can still picture you
In the clothes you used to wear

Our elderly neighbour passed away
We went into her house, it looked so bare
The only thing that remained of her
Was a shawl draped over her chair

I remember when she moved in
In nineteen ninety five
She told us she'd had three heart attacks
And was lucky to be alive

Everyday she’d come and ask
If I’d go for her cigarettes
Or go to the local betting shop
And put on her horse-racing bets

One day she asked me in
And showed me a photo of her son Dave
She said he had an unruly beard
Because he was too lazy to shave

She had shelves full of biscuit tins
And said “Biscuits are bad for your health”
Then took the lid off one
And said “it’s where I keep my wealth”

There must have been at least a grand
In used ten pound notes
She peeled two off the ***
And said “Buy yourself a winter coat”

I refused the money
To take it didn’t seem right
She said “you need the money more than me,
I've noticed your sad plight”

I asked her what she meant
And she said it was a scandal
Me walking around with a tear in my sleeve
I explained I’d caught it on a door handle

She had an ornate mantelpiece
With a China dog at either end
I said “those are probably valuable”
She said she'd been left them by a friend

She had two porcelain orbs
Hanging from her window sashes
I commented that they were pretty
She said they contained her late husband’s ashes

I asked if he'd been her only one
But she told me she'd had three
A Butcher, a Tailor
And the last one would go to sea

She’d heard he’d had a girl in every port
But hadn’t known if it was true
Then letters from different women arrived
She’d lost count at twenty-two

I sat in awe of all her antiques
She said she’d had a valuation
An offer from a local dealer
Had filled her with anticipation

She unbuttoned her hand-knitted cardigan
And reached into her blouse pocket
She asked me to hold out my hand
And she placed in it a locket

The locket was adorned with filigree
And was pretty beyond compare
She told me it contained
A lock of her late mother’s hair

I said I couldn’t take it
It must be of sentimental value
She said “Rather you than my son’s wife
Cos I know what she’ll do.

She’ll be straight round to the jewellers
And see how much it’s worth.
I can’t stand that woman
Though my son thinks she's the salt of the earth.

She's a right gold-digger
With my boy just for his money
When I try to warn my son
He seems to think it’s funny”

I tell her that it’s time I went
And she says “You’d best go home,
Nobody understands the loneliness
When you live alone”

I feel a pang of guilt
But I can't stay there forever
She says she'll go to bed when I’ve gone
Because she’s not feeling too clever

Later on that same day
We all heard an almighty bang
At her lounge window was an empty space
Where her curtains used to hang

My father broke down her front door
She lay beneath a wood hall stand
Lifeless and ashen, both eyes open
A porcelain orb clasped in each hand

Her son visited the following day
And stripped the whole house bare
No antiques left or money
Just her shawl upon her chair

Sam the dog and Pearl the cat
Were sitting on the wall
They do it every day
So it isn't strange at all

They have little conversations
Which only they can understand
They talk about their little quirks
And none of them are planned

Pearl goes first of course
And Sam lets her have her say
He knows better than to interrupt
He learnt his lesson the other day

“I scratch my scratching post
And I chase my clockwork mouse
I leave my loving mistress
Little gifts all around the house

I eat all of my food
Then I use my litter tray
Or sometimes one of her slippers
When she looks the other way

I sleep lots throughout the day
Until about half past seven
Then I think it’s playtime
Until well after eleven

Each day she fills my water bowl
But I don't use it for a drink
I prefer to use the kitchen tap
While balancing on the sink

I like to lodge my face in things
And my mistress gets fed up
The other day I got it stuck
Inside a paper cup

I've got a lovely padded bed
For when I need a sleep
But I sleep in the bathroom hand-basin
It’s nice and cool and deep

I love it on a Tuesday
My mistress gets her magazine
I sit my bottom on it
It’s pages sight unseen

One of my favourite pastimes
Is scratching on the door
I make her think I want to go out
Then I curl up on the floor

I put on my needy face
When I smell nice food
My mistress never shares with me
How can she be so rude?

I like to go upstairs
On the bed I like to lie down
Nestled in a furry ball
On a fluffy dressing gown

Sometimes I hide in cupboards
Then suddenly jump out
My mistress tells me off for startling her
You probably hear her shout

I sit on the laptop keyboard
While my owner tries to chat
To her human friends on Facebook
I soon put a stop to that”

Sam now has his say at last
And looks straight at Pearl, the cat
“You think you get into mischief,
Well I can better that

I love going into town
Though it isn’t very far
My favourite thing is the lovely breeze
On my head out of the window of the car

Sometimes my mistress brings me a doggy bag
From her favourite restaurant
It contains all of my favourite things
She knows exactly what I want

Last week she took me in the car
Allegedly to the park
It was really a trip to the vets for ‘the snip'
I was totally kept in the dark

I do a vanishing act at bath time
I always hide under the bed
So I get taken out to the garden
And end up getting hosed-down instead

Whenever my belly is scratched
No matter where we are
I lay on my back with my legs in the air
As if playing an air-guitar

I love rolling in smelly stuff
Much to my owner’s dismay
It's one of my favourite pastimes
I do it almost every day

I'm the master of the head-tilt
When I smell nice food on the table
I sometimes get some scraps
But not from greedy aunt Mabel

Odd times I chase my tail
I chase it round and round
Then I spin around a couple of times
Before exhaustedly lying down

I keep eating grass
When my tummy is upset
But sometimes I eat too much
And I end up at the vet”

It’s almost five ‘o’ clock
Both hear the rattling of a tin
That sound means it is dinner time
Time to be going in

Sam gently says to Pearl
“See you tomorrow, the same time”
Pearl preens her whiskers and purrs softly
Then over the wall she starts to climb

Sam spies a muddy patch
He'll save it for another day
Then he'll see his pal, Pearl the cat,
When she’s next out to play

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’

Bullies shouldn't prosper, Bullies shouldn't win,
Do they realise the pain they cause as they stand and grin?
Picking on the weak ones, some half of their size,
If a victim stood up to them, they'd get a big surprise,

You have a fear of going to school or fear of going to work,
Victims lives are being ruined while the perpetrators smirk
You sneak out of the school and the lonely streets you roam
You pray to God that they don't follow you home

You lay in your bedroom both day and night
Tears streaming and in pain, no-one cares about your plight
You endure being held down, feeling blows dealt to your head
But no-one cares to intervene, so they stand and watch instead

Bruised and battered and terrified after each attack
Then later on in life the scars are still present on your back
PTSD and night terrors soon become the norm
The very rare restful night is the calm before the storm

Bullying can continue later on in life
A helpless victim at the mercy
Of a husband or a wife
Bullies think they are invincible
When to a victim they attach
But bide your time and one day
They will meet their match

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