Prefabs and bomb shelters, those memories I remember,
Pick brambles in August, wild gooseberries in September,
These were the times of my childhood, a post war escapade,
It was in a time of many shortages, imaginations were made,
Many images of local children playing happily in the street,
Often knowingly watched over by the local bobby on the beat ,
Seeing the Rag and Bone man, with an old nag pulling his dray,
Surreptitiously rang many doorbells, then we would run away,
Running errands for many a neighbour, a sixpence our reward ,
We felt really rich with that tanner, feeling as important as a lord,
Practicing for hours with our marbles, or at catching bees in a jar,
Our competitions were imaginative, with billy carts as our car
Hopscotch grids on pavements, boxes drawn out with chalk,
Boys always wore short trousers, Girls resplendent in a frock,
National milk tins full of buckies, picked from cold rocky pools,
Spend weekends at Nigg Bay, with children from Torry schools,
We made our own adventures, agile minds at work and play,
Creating our own magic from what was available on the day,
Feeling secure in our neighbourhood, not home till after dark,
Safely playing outside together, in the street or local park,
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