Auntie Ginnie's thruppenny bit,
Pocket money every Saturday
Seldom made it home because
Mrs Dobson's lay on the way.
In her little corner shop holding
Two or three at the very most,
Sitting on her wooden stool
A beaming, genial, host.
Behind her, sweetie heaven
In rows of large glass jars,
Aniseed Balls, Gob Stoppers
Chewy McGowans Toffee bars,
All carefully arranged so she
Seldom had to move
Turning left and right like
An automaton in a groove.
The agonising anticipation of
Deciding which to choose.
Pear Drops and Fruit Drops,
Displayed unwrapped and loose
Jelly Babies, Cinder Toffees
Humbugs, Striped candy sticks
Dolly Mixtures, Liquorice Allsorts,
Lollipops and Sherbet licks.
Each jar had its own little scoop
To lay the sweeties on the scale,
In little cone shaped bags, tops
Folded on completion of the sale.
Serving many generation's children,
A dark place, lit mainly by daylight,
We would gather at its window
To gaze in mouthwatering delight.
Sweeties now are sealed in plastic
To meet new Food Hygene Law
Very few loose sweets sold from
Glass jars and bottles any more.
Non recyclesble packaging
Encloses nearly every sweet
Too readily casually discarded
To add more litter to the street.
We had few simple pleasures
In my childhood day,
One of those the little shop
With its eye catching display.
Modern life with its superstores,
Lived at a pace far too fast,
The little corner sweetie shop
Almost a memory of our past.
