Each schoolday was much the same

Each school-day was much the same.
The smells of carbolic soap from the bathroom,
and smoked bacon from the kitchen downstairs,
fighting for supremacy on the narrow landing
outside my bedroom.
The struggle with shoes and socks;
the delight of a soft white shirt
or the discomfort of a scratchy grey one,
all preceded that claustrophobic moment when,
finally donning the school pullover,
it seemed that a tousled head
might become inextricably enveloped forever.

Each school-day was much the same.
In the avenue, the windows of the brand-new houses,
lace -curtained,
would look on from their red-brick faces
at the hops, skips  and jumps
which had become part of avoiding
the joints between paving stones.
But only to the street corner
where the daily ritual was invariable
and a distorted, bespectacled, school-capped face
could be made to grimace back
from the doctor's large polished brass plate.

Each school-day was much the same.
Although in the marble season,
the hops, skips and jumps were not as vigorous,
so as to lessen the chance
of losing the contents of bulging pockets.
Glass alleys, with their swirling, multi-coloured centres
in one pocket;
and the ordinary, ten-a-penny, coloured baked-clay ones
in the other.
With a practised thumb and a keen eye,
a boy could return home
with an even greater bulge in each pocket.

Each school-day was much the same.
Except on those days
when marbles were ousted by conkers.
Conkers made super-hard by careful baking
in the oven;
made super-secure
by careful piercing
and hanging on a knotted leather bootlace;
or, when conkers gave way in their season
to tops and whips, hoops,
and that marvel of inventiveness,
the Yo-Yo.

Each school-day was much the same.
Except in summer when, at 'home-time', for a penny,
there was ice-cream.
A bulging sandwich of custard coloured ice-cream
between two crisp wafers.
Served by a little dark-skinned man
from a little horse-drawn cart.
On a good day, with a little white-toothed smile,
he would, with a flourish,
add a squirt of raspberry juice
before topping off his confection
and handing it over for a penny.


Each school-day was much the same.
Walking home, slowly,
remembering the day's adventures.
Past the privet hedges,
the iron gates,
seventy-one, sixty-nine, sixty-seven,
'Beware of the Dog', 'No Hawkers or Circulars',
sixty-five, sixty-three, sixty-one.
Not even a side glance
at the now-tarnished doctor’s plate.
The familiar grimacing face would be there again
in the morning.