Derwent Street on the right. The railway line going behind the houses, was where I existed as an ankle-snapper
This Ode was written, in memory of the bad times. The start of my life-long Whoopsiedangleplops, Accifauxpas and Failures. Also, the two good things that happened while living here; but, they were my last two good things, and I can’t remember them clearly.
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth
In Inchies youth, some kids could be vandalistic,
Most were foul-mouthed verbalistic…
With tempers, through ignorance, volcanic!
Nobody learnt how to use a chopstick,
Most uneducated, we had rickets and hair-nits,
Food options and choices were limited; we couldn’t cherrypick,
No vacuums, all had a dustpan and broomstick!
The teachers didn’t care; they were unspecific…
Volatile youths, spitting, swearing and unhygienic,
Educating in our school? Best learn survival… so tragic!
There always seemed to be some sort of epidemic…
Most whippersnappers got measles, worms or were tularaemic,
School life was about surviving bullies, all unsymmetric!
Threats were rife; each street had a gang, all misanthropic!
Most homes were two-up-two down, bare and mephitic,
But believe me, I’m not intending to be a critic…
Life was what we were born into, not to us, pyrrhic…
We made the best of what we didn’t have. Life was quixotic,
Poverty drove some of us to do things mildly despotic!
To survive each day, we had to be chameleonic…
Keep alert for gangs, any contact, you must be phlegmatic…
You’d still stand a chance of this proving pyrrhic …
You’d still get name called, and a wallop, many a skrik,
Fear turned many of us into being schizophrenic!
6 thoughts on “Inchcock’s Sad Ode to his Youth”
Well, I would rather read the straight memories with all the warts and issues than to read something that sounds like a Christmas newsletter that recounts the feats and wonderfulnesses of a perfectly successful household with profoundly gifted children.
Pestilence, plague, and perfidy are actual events that may still haunt the memory and stir up the thought storms that become frequent visitors. No gathering of relatives is even relatively peaceful and joyful without measure.
Sorry if I pierce bubbles, but I do not believe that there is any bubble of delusion to pierce.
And wishing you a profoundly, and absolutely fantastic Friday. The first Friday of the current month, that month being December.
Billum the reporter of things worthy and also those not worth a counterfeit farthing.
I bo to your assessments of family gatherings, Sir. My expertise is on the family arguments, splitting, and getting to know some fine policemen and women who had the job of searching the house, and asking the same questions each of the many times Mam ran away to avoid prosecutions. She did it so often, I became friends with Police Woman Constable Gwendoline (Can’t remember her second name though?) She would get me present for several Christmas’s, always food, bless her cotton socks. ♥
Bubble piercing is an essential in life – it makes one realise things and muse of choices taken etc.?
Love the fake farthing bit. Hehehe!
TTFNski each and all! ♥
Famly gatherings are always at least curious affairs that regurgitate at various times to elicit a chuckle or two, they then become the stuff of memory that waft their way into conversations such as this. My own mam did not run from constables or various arms of lawship, but kept us entertained in her own inimitable way. As do all the participants that I recall from various segments of memory. Constable Gwendoline of No Second Name was wise enough to gift you with the most important things — the edible. Glad that you ejoyed that farthing reference, Sir.
Top of the evening to you, Sir Billum, Sir!
Not many Mums can be on such intimate terms with the magistrates and ossifers of the law. Haha!
Your farthing addition was well timed and placed, to get the biggest laugh from the Nottingham Pensioner, Odeist and going potty proletariat personage.
I fank You!
We haveth a bright blue sky at this momentchen. Temperatures for the last three days have averaged in the mid 60s, Fãhrenheitswise.
Billums is of the opineage that the word Farthing refers to an object located at some distance: a far thing, as it were.
Blue sky, Sir? Gotten Himmel! Umdrehen! Kein blauer Himmel hier, Sir! (A small iota of jealousy brewing, Haha!) According to Mr G, it is now 36°f here, with noises coming from Herbert, at 22:26hrs.
Oower just gone down to 35f here as I type.
Are we Little Englanders escaping the Global Warming?
It is a far far greater thing that you have analysed, indeed a smidgeon of wonderment is likely at any moment, Sir.
Love and respect to all. ♥