Coming ever nearer
She stood there in fright
As they passed on either side
Into the black of night

My aunt she was the Pastor;’s wife
I fondly do recall
She served for years so faithfully
At Fochriw Mission Hall
I could fill a book or two
In poetry and prose
My aunt, for she was known to all

As lovely Bopa Rose.

Whip and Top

Do you remember the season
For marbles, and do you recall
How we sent our tops a-spinning
From the station to New Hall

We wound the whip-cord around it
Held it firmly with a knee
Pulled the whip with all our might
And lashed it heartily

It landed spinning  yards away
Whilst whipping it would not stop
The tops, they all looked pretty
With chalk designs on top

The boys played games with marbles
We were happy, one and all
But what about the traffic?
There was none at all

Ancestoral Sundays

Our ancestors, on Sunday
Wouldn’t wash a cup
All day long they gathered
For Monday’s washing-up

Roasts and puddings ready cooked
From the day before
Three times to church and chapel
They would do no more

Shopping, baking, washing
Oh!, perish the thought