FRIENDSHIP
Friend Harry Roberts and myself,
Go back a long, long way,
To the days of the nineteen twenties,
When as kids we used to play.
In the backyards of old Cammels Row,
And fields around the Masons Arms.
When Dronfield was a little place,
Surrounded by cornfields and cattle farms,
We played such games as kick a can,
Marbles and whip and top,
Sometimes we would get a penny to spend,
At old Mrs. Blakeys sweet shop.
Mrs. Blakey was a kindly old soul,
Her window was packed full of sweets,
Gobstoppers, lollypops and sherbet fizz,
All of them our favourite treats.
Now Harry and I in our autumn years,
Often think of our childhood days.
As happy go lucky little children,
And the old games we used to play.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
Friend Harry Roberts and myself,
Go back a long, long way,
To the days of the nineteen twenties,
When as kids we used to play.
In the backyards of old Cammels Row,
And fields around the Masons Arms.
When Dronfield was a little place,
Surrounded by cornfields and cattle farms,
We played such games as kick a can,
Marbles and whip and top,
Sometimes we would get a penny to spend,
At old Mrs. Blakeys sweet shop.
Mrs. Blakey was a kindly old soul,
Her window was packed full of sweets,
Gobstoppers, lollypops and sherbet fizz,
All of them our favourite treats.
Now Harry and I in our autumn years,
Often think of our childhood days.
As happy go lucky little children,
And the old games we used to play.
By
Alfred Weston
© Copyright Reserved 2003
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