A Truck Full of Turnips

Grandma used to tell this story, how she drove a truck into a wall,

in the war, when she was in the Land Army, a truck full of turnips,

knocked down a wall, and Grandad said he saw his mate die on a

boat, right next to him, shot stone dead, right there, right next to him,

just like that, right there.            And I tell you about how, in the 80s,

the shops couldn’t open on a Sunday, the pubs would have to close

in the afternoon, and you say What the hell, your eyes moon-wide,

like that couldn’t happen, and I hope, when you’re older, you don’t

have to care about the shops being shut on a Sunday, the pubs being

closed in the afternoon, that you don’t have to think about any of that.

 

◄ Urban Pedestrian

Je Ne Regrette Rien ►

Comments

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Martin Elder

Sun 29th Mar 2020 21:15

A fine piece of poetry Joe. I think many of us can relate to this in different ways
Nice one

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jennifer Malden

Sun 29th Mar 2020 10:33

Liked this one! My grandmother was an air raid warden, and my mother drove an army lorry then was promoted to chauffeur a general. Also a land girl. About the present restrictions it's no use grumbling and moaning because it's necessary, so many people have died already. In Italy the deaths are over 10,000, and over 50 of these doctors.

Jennifer

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keith jeffries

Sat 28th Mar 2020 16:29

Joe,

I am old enough to remember wartime rationing, queuing for food, my mother clutching ration books and time spent playing on bomb sites which were out of bounds due to the danger of falling masonry or unexploded bombs. When I mention these stories today I know that people think I am exaggerating, but it was all real. You are right to draw comparisons with what we are enduring today. A good poem, one of comparisons.

Well done

Keith

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Joe Williams

Sat 28th Mar 2020 16:23

I wrote this last year but it feels quite pertinent now. It was originally published in the 'Whirlagust' anthology by Yaffle Press.

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