Secret Sign

No, Marks & Spencer shopping, no, that was not to be,
It was Jumble Sales and ‘Pot luck time’, for a ‘ragged lad’, like me,
As long as shoes came in my size and had both left and right,
They would only cost a shilling, (even though they fitted tight).

A shirt was bought for threepence, short trousers (half worn out),
Some socks, a penny, (just two holes, but they wold dar, no doubt ),
A jacket there for one and six, all buttons were intact,
And a jumper, (that a girl once wore, – but that’s a hidden fact).

And this was me, this ‘ragged lad’, in 1949,
Just ready to take on the World, to lay claim to what was mine,
At 5 years old I embraced life to be tasted tried and felt,
But I had a secret weapon on, – my very own – Snake-belt!

It looped around my trousers, like a secret service sign,
A signal of importance there, by singular design,
A red stripe in the middle, and patterns either side,
Elastic stuff, that stretched a lot, that really was my pride.

The ‘snake sign’, there, that formed the clasp, was, ‘Special Agent’ fun,
For sometimes when it came into view, it glittered in the sun,
And then a gang of ‘ragged lads’ who took a ‘secret vow’,
Would all become the, ‘Snake Belt Boys’, and play together now.

These thoughts are part of history, long passed and faded slight,
But they drift back at times to me and bring to me the sight,
Of these ‘Ragged lads’ who laughed all day, who bent, (but never knelt),
And, ‘All for one, and one for all!’ – by the, secret sign – Snake-belt!

Mick
(Copyright Michael Westwood 2016)