In the street children played, soldiers,pirates and planes,
Several skinny dogs barking, no longer on chains.
Mary sits on a chair, outside her front door,
Chatting to Mavis who lives along at number four.
Her black cat sits on the sill, striking an elegant pose,
A Small dog tries to get up, she shows him her claws.
Ron from sixty four, rides past on his bike,
Ringing its bell loud, gives the kids quite a fright.
At the top of the street was the old Phoenix inn,
Where every kind of sailor had a beer with his gin.
I was born at forty four, in the front room of that house,
Just a midwife, hot water, and the odd running mouse.
no television,no technology, just a big old tin bath,
An outside bloody toilet at night was no laugh.
At the bottom of the the street was an ex boxers kin,
My friends they all were and we made quite a din.
No posh suits,no choir, just old trawler man songs,
On any given day this was the street I lived on.......