Growing up in Greenock
The Broomy it was home to me
In a different time and place
My mind drifts back to long ago
And brings a smile upon my face
Bruno's chips and tick fae Pat
And lard from the butchers shop
The Broomhill Bar and tally vans
Which Bruno always tried to stop
Snowball fights in winter-time
And sledges racin doon the hill
And snowmen seen in every green
And extra socks to fight the chill
In summertime the days were long
We wandered far and we were free
To climb the hills and walk the cut
As long as we were hame for tea
Fitba games and soldiers too
And curby on the street
And tennis at the Mill St Park
And youth clubs where we would meet
Morton games and Morton rolls
And pies and Bovril too
The Cowshed boys and Dublin end
They all come into view
Drunken men with change for weans
And fights ootside the pub
Fish and chips and carry oots
Now where's the joy, ah there's the rub
Nick-names runnin through ma mind
Reminds me of so many friends
Some-how faded in the mists of time
When did our names come to an end?
There was Squid and Elmo, big Slim too
Snooper, Scally, Paw and Sire
Now all the names have ceased to be
In time these alias's retire
There was railroad tracks and chooky hens
And rope-works in dis-repair
Harry Friels and the Murdy dam
Ye dare not swim in there
The Mavy boys would come to fight
Brave men would hold the line
Carry oots up the Broomy park
And beer washed doon wi wine
We raided orchards, climbed for cheggy's
And always looked for old pram wheels
In darken cellers and scrapyards too
With watch-dogs snappin at oor heels
Only the bravest of the brave
Would race doon Mount Pleasant St
But that's where bravery was born
To survive was no mean feat
Golf baw divin up the Beezy
Only attempted when hot and breazy
And when a Strojan wid appear
We ran doon hills, laughin wi fear
Commando courses through the backs
Faces blackened in the night
Through Lemon, Lime and Pine St too
And the man would shout ' Go on ya wee shite'
A portion o chips bought wi bottles
Ah they never tasted so sweet
Around every corner they might be found
Lemonade bottles in the street
Chips for yer tea every night
With a quarter of spam, what a joke
And ma mother never fails to correct me
'It wisnae spam, it was chopped ham and pork'
And when asked for a raise for her keep
My sister replied with alarm
'Five extra pounds a week
For two extra slices of spam? '
And now we look through rose coloured glasses
At all our childhood days gone by
Days that are gone and lost forever
We look in the mirror and we give a sigh
But look again and shut your eyes
Can you hear the children play?
These days are gone, but in your heart
They're never very far away
poem by Frank McEleny
Added by Poetry Lover
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