Sit down, relax, clear your mind, close your eyes
In dreams all those memories floating back
When dresses were frocks, no zips, button flies
Hornby train, wound up, trundling round a track

In scullery, Mum, pinny waist tied about
Thrusts smalls into sink, washboard at the ready
Scrubbing, cajoling 'til dirt driven out
Mum moves to wringer, turns handle. Steady

'When's dinner ready Mum?' a young voice calls
'It's cooking. First I'll hang out this lot'
She trips and liberty bodice falls
Mum picks it up. Is it *****? It's not

Next she opens the stove door, checks the food
Grabs a fork. Stabs it in. Recoils 'cos it's hot
'Toad in the hole', takes a taste, 'that's good'
The pair sit at the table, demolish the lot

'When dad gets home, back from the pit, he'll get bubble and squeak, and he'll eat every bit'