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Poem of the week.

Glower memories still have so much power

When I was little and lived in the Glower,

We played in the back lane for many an hour.

Would it be Cowboys and Indians or knocky-nine-door?

Swinging round the lamps till our bums got sore.

Weeks and weeks of gathering wood,

Bonfire Night was always good.

Harriet Holmes would have made a guy.

The whole Glower watching as the flames shot higher.

Roasting tatties in the dying embers,

This was our fifth of November.

On New Year's Eve, Mr Cowley would play on our old piano.

Ma and Da dressed in an hilarious manner.

Our Georgie, who was in the choir

Would have to sing Now is the Hour

The women would cry at his voice so sweet.

So, once again, the song he'd repeat.

Climbing on tilings to see them launch the ships

Going to Calaboutins for fish and chips.

Matty Harvey's for butter off a marble slab.

Mantels, sugar, packets of tabs.

We played in the wash house on rainy days.

When it was hot, in the top field we lazed.

Making daisy chains, making camps.

When it got dark, back to the lamp.

So many stories, would take many an hour.

Childhood days, life in the Glower.

C ADAMS, Glebe Road, West Moor.
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Publication:Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)
Date:Apr 23, 2004
Words:214
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