Sunday.
Up with the lark
Fried breackfast all round
HELP MUM WITH THE VEGETABLES
Then off for a walk
With my father across Tooting Bec Common
What i`d give for one of those walks today with him.
What we talked about,i`ve no idea,
But they were precious times.
We took the dog with us for a run
And my Father carried a blackthorn stick.
On autumn days,or late summer
He`d use the stick to pull down branches of bright blackberries
And we`d cram our mouths full of delicious fruit.
'Don`t eat to many or you`ll spoil your dinner,' he`d say.
We`d come home to a roast dinner
And my Mother,Father,Brother and myself would feast
Ourselves,perhaps a blackberry pie to follow.
Afternoon was Sunday School,and i would arrive home
Waving my picture,or whatever we`d made,with the teacher`s help.
Salad for tea,followed by an evening of watching television.
Sunday Night at the London Palladium,was a favourite
And also Gunlaw and Hitchcock`s half-hour,
Thus Sunday passed.
