´óÏó´«Ã½

By kind permission of the author

They used to let me take a ride
On the milkman’s cart
The afternoon delivery, of course,
Two seats at the front behind the horse,
The reins lying across his rump
As he plodded hugely on,
And on the step behind, the churn
With it’s long handled dipper
Ladling out the creamy froth
To jug and jar and basin,
And I’d importantly preside
Over the whole, a part
Of that last pre-war city summer,
Eating my ordinary banana,
Not knowing six years were to pass before,
In almost-teens, I’d meet again
That taste and texture, wafer thin,
My classmate with her penknife, dispensing her largesse.

‘This story was submitted to the People’s War site by ´óÏó´«Ã½ Radio Merseyside’s People’s War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his/ her permission. The author fully understands the site’s terms and conditions.’

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