ANZAC Poem Remember when?

Remember when mothers had one weekly washing day
With boiling copper and elbow grease to coax the dirt away?
The clothesline in the backyard was a single yard length one
And sometimes fickle clothes prop lifting the line to the sun.

Remember when ice cream was a SPECIAL TREAT on a day in town?
Roast chicken was wonderful Sunday lunch, baked vegetables to crown;
Hot bread from the bakery, the crust we’d pick as our homeward way we sought
And at the milko’s call we’d rush with the billy to receive the daily quart.

Remember the wood stove’s homely warmth, crackle and friendly glow?
Home cooking smells and chimney smoke told us what we loved to know
That Mum was keeping the home fires burning (Chopping wood was Dad’s job)
To us it meant getting the chips in and bricks for warm beds on the hob.

Remember when the radio serials? “Blue Hills” by Gwen Meredith and such
For kids there was the Argonauts Club with Jason who kept us in touch.
Remember when Saturday was bath day, with a in a dish on the days between?
When we got a new chip heater in the bathroom, it was a sight to be seen.

Remember the little house in the back yard, newspaper squares hung on a nail?
A good place to hide from the washing up; it worked for me without fail.
Green wrappers from a case of apples would become as sorbent for us
At night, we had to accompany each other.
We did so with lost of fuss.

Remember rope petticoats and pointy-toed shoes?
We all wore hats to church.
Remember trains with a smell of smoke and carriages that only lurched?
In Brisbane, there were noisy, draughty old trams;
Memory enhances appeal.
Remember the days before “McDonalds”?
Who’d heard of a take-away meal?

Remember when life was slower and Pine Rivers was a rural retreat?
Lots of kids knew how to milk cows.
Horses were still seen on the street
We all knew most everyone; few strangers came our way.
But those who came fell in love, and in the Pine chose to stay.

Remember inkwells and copybooks and marching into school?
We sat in rows from best to worst, calling he who came bottom a fool.
We had plaits and ribbons and well used cane we hated so.
But all in all, they were GOOD TIMES!
Forty or more years ago.

A poem by June Hopkins, Pine Rivers poet.

Peter 0418 774 663
peter@petercampbellrealty.com

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