A Brummie Childood Remembered

Oh deeply missed, you Bull Ring, miscellany of stalls,
A youth remembered, clutching coat hem, wide-eyed.
Wigs, salami, gaudy rings, old shoes, the raucous Brummie calls,
Bouncing off the walls.

“’ ’andy carrier!” Thickly yelled, and “Apples a pound pears!”
A language understood by all, a Midlands code in grey old Brum
Co-existent with the church
Cups of orange tea, chips, prayers.

The big red buses veering madly through the melee, blocking roads
The smell of diesel, dripping raincoat, Hippodrome –
“One Night Only – Frankie Laine!”
Peered at through the rain.

Lewis’s with its rubber road and magical roof top gardens
Where Uncle Holly Christmas time dispensed largesse
Along with tiny Brummie elves
Playing themselves.

Further back again, the smog, a grey-green poison, part of play;
Where we would hide and breathe in death
And smell its fumes in muffled day.
And creep and grope our homeward way.

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

Always remember the rag market. Mostly a load of rubbish with the odd treasure.
Some stalls with almost nothing to sell, just to keep the stall active and in the family.

The flower seller on the ramp by the market.
Lots of memories.
But I'm not a Brummies, I'm a Yamyam.

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

That meks two on us Tregonsee.

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

Lovely verse Fruity, reminded me of the old Dublin I knew so well then, only the busses were green here same as the pillar post boxes, otherwise very similar.
We never forget the old markets, noises, and smells of the big city.

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

Er, tweren't I m'lud.

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

Often confused by outsiders, who can't tell the difference!

Re: A Brummie Childood Remembered

Yep, a Yam Yam could never have been a Peaky Blinder, and few Brummies could have been.