I didn't argue with him
Didn't even bother to try
I could see the nostalgic
Look there deep his eye.
The old days he said when
lives were simple and good
Not quite sure looking bac
At the days of my childhood.
Dad laboured on a farm
A slave in all but name
But no way unusual as most
Workers were treated the same .
Mam cleaned for farmers
Again a fairly unfair deal
Bit at least for her lunch
She shared their hot meal.
Our family relied so much on tick
The shop keepers understood
And dad paid them as much
And as often as he could
We walked the village fields
To supplement the pot
We didn't shoot for sport
But ate everything we shot.
We had permission to take
pigeons and rabbit and duck
We took pheasant and partridge
And hare if we had the luck.
But shooting game instead of
Vermin was a serious crime
With penalty of a fine or
Even the chance of doing time
My childhood was carefree
With acres and acres to roam
And the nearest beach being
Just a three mile walk from home.
An ordinary village existence
Well away from any rat race
And ilife was pleasant so long as
We knew and kept our place.
What we didn't have we did without
And poverty was generally rife
But you didn't know you were poor
And just got on with your life
Life was simple but not pleasant
In the so called good old days
Nostalgia and selective memory
Have erased those bad old ways.
Materially we are better off but
Really everything is still the same
The boss expects his pound of flesh
And it's still slavery in all but name.
Life has changed in many ways
But the wealth gap is a disgrace
the working class still expected
To both know and keep their place
