When I Was a Boy

Oh where have all the years gone since I was just a boy?
Where I roamed the local woodlands, seeing birds and badgers; such joy,
I know badgers are nocturnal and not normally seen in the day,
But something must have disturbed them, for they were out to play.

Out of the back gate and across the ditch and follow the path to the brook,
With a rod from the willow, and try as I might, I never caught a fish on my hook,
While kingfisher resplendent in colours so bright, would soon have his lunch in his beak,
But happy was I to see God’s gift, of this bird, and onward I would seek.

The path followed the brook through the woods that I loved, a place that was filled with charm,
Then suddenly you hear the Blackbird call, tic! tic! tic! There’s a cat, and he sounds the alarm!
The Tree Creeper with long claws and its patterned brown, coat, hides on the bark of a tree,
No matter how hard you look; until it moves, the bird you won’t see.

In summer months with jam jar in hand, for tadpoles I would go,
Great newts, black, red and yellow, swimming in clear water, all aglow,
They’d swim in the holes that German bombs made,
German bombers dropped them last year, in a raid.

Greenfinch, Goldfinch and Bullfinch abound, and you will see the Chaffinch too,
The Nuthatch so fine in its grey and cream coat, feasts on the berries of Yew,
The path wanders on to Lovers Lane, then the viaduct, mighty it stands,
Reminds me of Rome but no water here, steam trains puff and snort, so grand.

These woodlands of mine they curve round a golf course, where swallows feed on the flies,
And I often remember my childhood there, so many the things that ties,
Old friends, old school and the allotment too, we had, for our food during the war,
We would grow all own vegetables and I had to dig, end of the day my legs were all sore.

We kept chickens of course, for protein; we need all the eggs we could get,
And breakfast for me was eggs and beans and dripping on toast; I can taste it in my mouth yet!
We walked to school, three mile or so, and danger dogged our way,
For German bombers going back home, would unload their bombs, and we would run away.

Often I would hear a lark but to find him I’d have to look up in the air,
For he sings only while ascending and I’d have to stare and to stare,
Coming down no sound does he make, and soon he is lost to view,
Its four pm. And I’m going home then, and thinking of mum cooking the stew.

I left England’s shores many years ago and traveled the world to see,
We made our home in Australia, not very far from the sea,
Many a year, my wife and I, worked so hard to pay off our home,
And then I retired and we took the big trip, back to England to roam.

I went back to that woodland, the path and the brook, still there but different somehow,
Instead of the eyes of a boy of eight, I was looking through much older eyes now,
The brook back then, it seemed so wide, but now it seemed so small,
The climbing oak, still there, on the edge of the course but now it didn’t seem so tall.

These are some treasured memories, from my childhood of so long ago,
Through a child’s eyes I saw them, and kept them; never wanting to let them go,
Soon another stream to be forded, one that none can escape,
And Jesus will be there to welcome us, to the Light and the Golden Gate.