Mummy wakes us up with a shout,
‘You’ll be late for school you must up and out’.
I remember the cold, the ice inside the pane.
Our clothes, they felt damp again that day.
We breakfast on portage or toast at the most,
Grab satchels, or case, and sixpence for lunch,
Spring through the door, slamming it shut;
Then into the road trudge, through puddles and mud
Breathing autumnal scents of damp and decay,
To our school, for me with resignation, not happy anticipation .
My friend Marcia, I call for her on the way,
She is better at school than me, by a very long way.
We talk to some clerical brothers who are sweet and kind,
Buying us comics I still don’t know why.
Because Marcia was late, and for her I had to wait,
Most days she and I could have arrived at school late,
But we ran fast, to be on time for nine.
We used to talk about getting old
And here we are, over seventy years old!
Marcia , do you recall those days of yore?
We have been friends for sixty years and more.
We have both had interesting years;
Having each had, two husbands
Two children, a boy and girl.
We are both blond, and enjoying life to the full,
Happy birthday my friend, may all your wishes be fulfilled.