A Belfast Street

[gray_marian]

A Belfast Street

Memories of a Belfast street, memories so bitter sweet
Memories producing tears, to mark the passing of the years
Life today its clear to see, is not the way it used to be
Lacking warmth, devoid of grace, lived at much too fast a pace

More and more I reminisce, of all I knew, and loved - and miss
And often sit and sadly brood, on better days now gone for' good
Children playing piggy stick, trimming down the Tilley wick
A willow-patterned dinner plate, rubbing Zebo on the grate

Ardglass herring on a cart, a slice of mince and onion tart
A bicycle with luscious stocks, of ice cream in a wooden box
A half moon scrubbed around the door, Mansion polish on the floor'
Riding on a clanging tram, the taste of home made damson jam

A scullery with smells delicious, jaw-box filled with dirty dishes
Wintergreen upon a bruise, heelball on my Sunday shoes
Meccano sets and Dinky trucks, windows filled with drinking ducks
Soot inside the chimney flue, walls with greetings from Skiboo

A griddle baking soda bread, a gaslight glowing overhead
Butter running in hot champ, youngsters swinging round a lamp
Torn newspapers in the loo, melting bones for making glue
A pig's foot with a glass of stout, a horse that pulled a roundabout

Going to a beetle drive, Woodbine's in a pack of five
A man dispensing delph for rags, and giving kiddies paper flags
Trundling with cleek and hook, a grocer with a sugar scoop
Noisy clicking metal frogs, Marmalade with gollywogs

Soup from Sunday's remnant bone, Co-op quarters, cobblestones
Caley suckers, liquorice sticks, playing tig, catching spricks.
Women gossiping in shawls, oilcloth shining in their halls
Gypsies selling wooden pegs, tasty little banty eggs

Sunday round the parlour fire, a street Salvation Army choir
A tick man calling, Friday night, Senna pods to keep you right
McCooeys on the radio, a church hall magic lantern show
Jumping with a skipping rope, fine toothed combs and Derbac soap

Coalbricks steaming, freshly made, Ross's sparkling lemonade
Wooden pens with blotty nibs, spinning peeries on the crib
Memories of a Belfast street, recollections hard to beat
And crying when I dwell upon, a Belfast that has long since gone....

Bill Nesbitt

[j.sabourn]

What no reference to Ma Carrols Marion. JS

[happy daze john in oz]

A city to some extent still divided even after all the problems there are still a few who, would given half a chance, start the troubles again. I have some extended family members there who say at times they still have to take a look over the shoulder at times.