ramblings and things
A sort of wistful sadness,
as life moves quickly on,
the village of my childhood
bit by bit almost gone.
Physically, it's grown
to be larger in size,
much still the same as when
seen through my child's eyes:
once fields and meadows
where we would roam
now brick and concrete of
any time anywhere homes.
And it's full of strangers,
so very few of my friends
are still there and so
my connection ends.
First youthful encounters
at village dances,
adolescent kisses
snatched at chances.
Slipping outside
for furtive cuddles,
boys and girls in
conspirital huddles,
avoiding watchful
parental eyes,
recalled with pleasure
as years passed by.
The village hall is now missing,
its grounds once semi wild,
the centre of social life and
entertainment for a child.
Black and white film shows,
village drama group plays,
other communal events of
thise near pre television days;
now its demolished,
another childhood link gone
hard to accept, but I suppose
the village also has to move on.
So I visit our graves
In the old burial ground
and, every now and then
have a wander around.
O say hello to the ghosts
from my childhood days
then as quickly as i can
I’m off on my way.
A stranger now so
why should I care?
But in heart and mind still
that child growing up there.
Village Hall