Its fullness is hard to comprehend for it is sweetness and bitterness combined
An unsure uncertain and unstable boy in the beginning yet always certain of a bright end.
Sweet sad vision of english skies
wet cobbled stone streets
Smoky chimneys in a row, perched on roofs of shapeless houses
Power lines zig zagging across the open sky, dodging in and out of television ariels whilst lending support to numerous pigeons who always seem to make more noise on sunday than any other day of the week.
May the lord bless the salvation army who gave us the gospel message of a saviors love for a sinful man Every sunday morning, rain or shine.
Sunday afternoons in the local park, butterflies and daffodils, oak trees as old as the gentlemen smoking pipes and spitting, sitting on park benches, debating the shortcomings of the young generation that has followed them.
"Oh England, oh England, where have you gone?"
The renaissance past you by so quickly, oh how you used to be so cosy in the winter, listening to our robins song. The snow glistening all around your christmas card towns
Wooly scarf clad children with red glowing cheeks, sang sweet christmas carols down your echoing streets.
Hot rabbit stew and dumplings, mince pies and marzipan
Yorkshire puddings, hot chestnuts and cheese butties with jam
A cup of tea with a dash of rum and a kiss for me mam
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| The centre of the city my dad grew up in. the year was 1950 he was 5 years old when this picture was taken |
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