By Frances Acar
When I was just a
of eye and blonde of curl
how I did like to play
the hill and down the brae.
we would play down on the shore,
children we couldn’t ask for more
to play on shell white sand
tidal pools on either hand.
squished anemones and dislodged limpets
a summer lunch we made of winkles,
crabs, mussels and sea weeds,
met all our pudding needs.
would dig up worms of every shape and hue
and pink, hairy, short and yellow too,
off we’d go down to the shore
hope to catch more fish than before.
upon a rock at high tide
cast our lines out far and wide
bait we used crabs and shell-fish
in a dip in the rock like a dish.
used the same one as our grandfathers
those before them, their grandfathers,
now we had a smooth hollow like a cup
we could take our bait and smash it up.
throw out the bait to attract our prey
fish on till the end of day
and small we caught them all
off home, oh, what a haul!
had no water or electricity
folks on the mainland in the big city
had to go to the well and carry pails
water down the muddy trails
led to the spring line below the hill
weight of them I think of still.
in the grate we burned coal or peat
we could cook and have some heat.
climbed up cliffs and jumped off rocks,
peever in our flowery frocks,
ran with hoops and played at rounders
baseball we were quite the founders!
croft was clothed in a myriad flowers
every shape and type and color
robin comes to mind,
too and every kind
clover, pink and white, and yellow rattle,
of red, white and purple petal
lady’s smock and sea thrift too,
marigold and forget-me-not so blue
in this day when all the rage
to gaze upon the digital page
often think of those days gone by
the simple life we lived and why
am glad I had this island childhood
simple fun and play
will remember it and be grateful
my dying day!