Preserving the Memories

Preserving the Memories In our mother-sewn dresses and cardboard-lined shoes we'd play out til our bellies complained. No downward-turned faces; our hide ‘n seek places were solace on days that it rained, but blue-skied umbrellas and cobwebby cellars were merely the backdrops for fun for no matter the weather, when we were together our summer days rolled into one. We might tramp in the long grass in outdated garb wielding swords made of thorn-removed stems; daisy-chain coronets made ladies and baronets whose eyes shone like brilliant gems. Though shiny-bright farthings might save us from starving we wasted no time to acquire til the fifth of November when every gang member would forage for fuel for the fire. And up would go kindling in mountainous piles and up would come chins propped with pride We’d wheedled and pleaded, we’d polished and weeded and cast nets of hope far and wide. A flat cap, a topper, a bowler--how proper-- our Guy must be dressed for his part! An evil-faced scoundrel propped up in his tumbril which once served as nifty go-cart. Ah, the heavensent mem’ries that now are preserved by dint of some paper and ink no one could eradicate, undo or deprecate stories in cloth that won’t shrink. Though fewer in number are those who remember what life pre-computers was like, I’ll do duty gladly, though ever so sadly my thumb pushed deep into the dyke.