Sunday School trip
Off to the coast
For a taste of things
We enjoy the most:
A big bag of goodies,
A stick of Brid Rock,
Multi coloured nugget
In a big chewy block,
Winkles whelks and mussels,
A large pink candy floss
All crammed in a stomach
That couldn't give a toss.
Up and down the front
Playing to the girls
Entranced by budding curves
Bright eyes and flowing curls.
I just can't believe how quickly
Those few hours passed
But came the inevitable
Going home time at last.
Noisy boisterous racing
Trying not to cause a fuss
As we all manoeuvred for
The back seat of the bus.
Holding hands and necking
Slumping down out of sight
As the bus seemed to roar through
The approaching summer night.
All very decorous
For this was Sunday school
Overlooked by the supervisors
So nobody could really play the fool
Things were so different
In those more innocent days
And village life so constrained
In so many different ways.
Sunday School trip
Nineteen Fifties style:
Haven't though of those
For many a long while.
