MY SO NEARLY VALENTINE!

I’m going to tea at the Reasons,
such an elegant up market affair.
I’ve scrubbed me hands me face and neck
and brushed me ‘basin’ cut hair!
Terry’s asked me to be his Valentine,
his red shop bought card told me so,
Today he waits on my answer
but will I say yes or no?
I skip down the hill in me plimsolls,
heading for tasty treats,
He lives in the shop next the Cavo,
the one that sells chocolates and sweets
Their house is dead posh, there’s none finer,
silk curtains held back with a frill.
There’s always fresh fruit on the sideboard,
even when nobody’s ill!
I sit at their sumptuous table,
look in wonder through bone china plates,
my tea’s in a cup with an ‘andle
and I eat bread made wi’ nuts and dates.
We said us prayers before we began,
though his snooty mam called it ‘grace’.
And I dabbed me lips as the adults did
on a napkin of flowers and lace.
Their sugar came in tiny squares,
that was such a shock to me,
I used the real silver sugar tongs,
and dropped some in me tea!
I’ve made up me mind and wink at him,
he’s the Valentine I want.
He blows me a kiss across the cheese
and salmon vol au vent!
He’s blonde and wears blue plastic glasses;
they call him four eyes at school,
He woos the girls with Mars Bars and Kit Kats’,
cos this lad is nobody’s fool.
Chrissie Dunn wants him all to herself
but she’s far too old at aged ten.
But then that’s Christine all over,
allus going for much younger men!
But I had a trick up my sleeve
and captured my beau fair and square,
I’d done what the other girls daren’t;
I’d taught the lad…. how to swear!
Now I‘ve seen the way he looks at me
and I know I have made him mine,
Though as yet, I’ve not quite turned eight,
he’s just that bit older, he’s nine!
Stuffed to the gills I’m so ‘appy,
as we stroll arm in arm up the hill,
Me pockets filled wi’ tuffees
and the tanner he’s nicked from the till.
In our twitchel he stops to give me a kiss
– I blush cos it’s me first!
But our noses crashed, his glasses smashed,
our affair was sadly cursed.
Only pals now wi’ no spark of romance,
though I got the odd Mars bar or three,
Chrissie Dunn got all his attention,
she steamed his glasses, not me!
I saw him a few years ago,
he asked how I was I said ‘Fine!’
Now as wide as he once was tall,
he was so nearly my first Valentine!
*This was written for Terry Reason who gave me my first valentine card when I was about 8 in the late 1940’s. He now lives with his wife in Bottesford – her name is NOT Chrissie!

Why did they pull down Drury Hill? Why did they waste it that day??
From Weekday Cross to old Broad Marsh it had ever led the way.

Small it was and oh so steep, but worthy of this humble ditty
with tiny footpath, this cobbled street,run down yet oh so pretty.

Never could a car get past, its road being far too narrow, the only traffic built for it, were feet and the odd wheelbarrow.
A bookshop stood here and one on the right,a cobblers and clockmakers too
and traders lived behind their shops, though of comforts there were few,
In summer the sun was warm and kind and bathed it in gentle light,
But it was postcard perfect when frosted over in glorious winter white.
Slippy it was sometimes and I took the odd tumble there. But it didn’t ever stop me using that ancient thoroughfare.
But ‘they’ thought it in the way and would stop their shopping mall, so they took a vote and sent this street cruelly to the wall. Oh later ter they said they were sorry, it had been a big mistake! And now the market at Sneinton is facing the same horrid fate.
We finally know it’s going, the council is seeing it off, frequented for centuries by the poor man and the toff.
It’s supported thousands of families, clothed and fed many more. Kept Nottingham City going, right through the second world war.
Through all these many centuries, of the market folk t’was said, ‘They stood out in all weathers to earn their daily bread.’ Jacky Pownall sold baskets of pots, he’d haul them up on his hip, throw them high in the air and they’d crash down with never a chip.
I’m glad old Sally Slick Slacks gone, all alone she just sold rags. A tanner for a bunch of lace, earned enough for her pint and fags!
‘Reg the veg’ stood near the school, everyone’s mate, no-one’s fool. Tough as old boots who midst the clamour, filled pensioners bags and said “Giz a tanner.”
I went there wi’ me mam once, she bought me a cardi of blue. I’d never owned anything before, so soft and pretty a hue.
She paid a penny halfpenny and I wore it with great pride, till she washed and spoilt it and I cried and cried and cried.
And shoes I got with ankle straps, brown leather with a shine. On showing them to my friend Pat, she said “They once were mine.”
Every market manager, be he Joseph, Sam or Jack, was always known as ‘Toby’, bet a quid you didn’t know that.
And there have been hundreds of ‘Toby’s’, on that market through many ayear but on their death bed you can be sure; the council won’t shed a tear. Oh Sneinton I shall miss you, your noise and friendly chatter, some brave folk tried to stop them but it was far too late to matter.
They’ll swap this institution for high gloss granite and chrome
and fancified upholstery of chipboard and coloured foam.
And not too far along the years, trust me, just you wait, some council men will take a vote and say it’s out of date!
Oh there’ll be gyms and fancy shops, of those we have enough
and to folk like me who mourn its loss, the council men say ‘Tough!’
I know not who thought this one up, by face nor yet by name, but I sincerely hope I live to see you hang your head in shame.
JOYJAMES

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