When the Barrow is your Playground

Jam jar in hand off to the river for the day.
“Be back in time for dinner” the mother would say.
Swin suit, old shoes when the sun was in place.
Thinking I’d change colour with one more freckle on my face!
Time meaning nothing, creating a minnow farm was the game.
Called to a halt at the first sign of thunder or rain.

Friendly fish in abundance would fill up my jar.
The bridge being so quiet apart from the very odd car.
Sometimes the hunt for fish would take a different route.
One might spy an eel, gudgeon or trout.
A wave from Johnny in number seven,
he’d make coins rain down from heaven.

No longer fishing I’d be hunting for the loot.
A trip to Emersons; super split or a freaky foot.
The day always finished with every Mammys favourite sunburn potion.
Now burned to a crisp, covered head to toe in calamine lotion.
Looking back memories on The Hill really were the best.
Only time allows you realise how one was truly blessed.