I remember the cheese of my childhood,
And the bread that we cut with a knife..
When the children helped out with the housework
And the men went to work, not the wife.
The cheese never needed an ice chest,
And the bread was crispy and hot.
And the children were seldom unhappy,
And the wife was content with her lot.
I remember the milk from the billy
With yummy cream on the top.
Our dinner came straight from the oven
And not from the fridge in the shop.
The kids were a lot more contented
And didn’t need money for kicks.
Just a game with their mates in the paddock,
And sometimes the Saturday flicks.
I remember the shop on the corner
Where a pennyworth of lollies were sold.
Do you think I’m a bit too nostalgic?
Or is it I’m just getting old?
Submitted by Joan Farr (Australia)