The Party

The Party

I was a lad of barely eleven and the war had finally ceased,
with everybody cheering we’d finally got our peace.
Our street was swathed in bunting, in red white and blue,
bedsheets covered the trestles, with some as good as new.

Mother baked for England, there were eggless cakes galore.
with Spam and dripping sandwiches, the kids sang out for more.
We loved the Wooten and homity pie along with the corn beef hash
the party had a splendid spread, a really good old bash!

There was even an old piano, which Mrs Hobson played,
all the bad notes sounded sweet on that particular day.
With the adults doing the Conga up and down our street,
my mother danced like crazy, she was never off her feet

‘We’ll meet again’, was warbled with intent.
Mrs Hobson played full pelt in hope to compliment.
They seemed to sing for hours, every song they’d ever knew,
the dancing just continued and the merriment ensued.

There was tug-of–war and fancy dress and lots of party fun,
smiling faces grinning now, each and everyone.
Granma looked so happy, just beaming ear to ear,
the bombs now gone and peace at last, no longer life in fear.

The beer was freely flowing and the men enjoyed their drink,
such revelry and happiness as the many glasses clinked.
Mother had some sherry, which went straight to her head,
so Aunty Maud and Granma helped her to her bed.

Then there were the fireworks, so great for all to see,
next doors dog was barking now, along with the other three
Granma said not everyone was rejoicing on this day,
many men had lost their lives, a dreadful price to pay.

It made me sad to think of that, the many who had died,
Churchill, said to honour them, remember them with pride.
Granma hugged me like a bear and told me all was fine,
my father was returning home, for me, the best of times!

Teresa Harrison-Best

2^ndMay 2020