Memories

iIt didn't strike a chord with me that our destiny would ever end; forever journeys on bus or train to see that golden world as I felt it was just then. Money wasn't plentiful but love was; come rain or shine love chased us through days of rough fun in the tree's or on our common at the back of our house.

I feel for the old,disabled or mentally ill who are a source of attention by a malicious government who have turned the morals of Robin Hood into a game where the poor are made poorer simply because they are tired to answer back as the crumbs they once had are scattered around.
It' will be of little surprise if those that are denied feel angry and let down by a humanity who has carried their plans through to take away the rights of the man and the women to feel as good as the next man.

I am the survivor or a alcholic abuser that drank through the hours whilst the spires of our world looked on in my yesterday world where it didn't matter a jot about the family denied who crept through their days, nights to, whilst he their abuser drank his life as well as theirs away. Whilst out in the dark the Swinging Sixties kicked in followed by Carnaby Street.

You, my funny, clever and beautiful dad worked full time as a telephonist for a governmental department in Chelmsford whilst our lovely blind man remained at home to care for us.

We didn't have Disability Living Allowance then, we won't have it much longer now! I know my mum and dad would, if they could, say it is wrong to rob from the poor whilst the rich man counts his investments and sneers at the man in the street without a home to call his own or a job to go to never mind a expensive car in a drive far removed from the place which divides the wheat from the chaff or the bone from the dog who must bark if it's any chance of surviving.
You see dear dad so long gone from my world such a lot had happened to the world you knew where the power csme from the person inside who did their best in the fifties world that would one day move on from the agony war,rubble,disgusting, lonely death as the fighter chased their dream of a world where man would walk in his rich green land or be at a bench in the dark where he'd stitch the shoes of the man in the street or work in the mines for the energy of coal delivered on the backs of dray-men who whistled and sang in a world where everyone seemed to fit in.

What would you say dad to the world that feels quite bad and love a distant thing where trust is as evident as the streets paved with gold whilst the strife that divides us all maintains its power as Big Ben ticks on and her people wait for a better and kinder tomorrow.