Under The Stairs
In a stony cold house, many years ago now
Lived a family as happy as fate would allow.
Though leaking the roof, with cracked window pane
And open to elements like wind and the rain.
No bolt on the door, no lock and no chain.
Nothing to steal , no nor nothing to gain.
The children were happy. They ran wild and free.
I remember it well, for the eldest was me.
The garden unkempt, with weeds o`er grown
A paradise, a jungle, and all of our own.
Cowboys and Indians, Superman too
Batman and Robin, yes all these we knew.
Our personal friends, in times of great need
We just had to call them, they always would heed!
An old tin can for “ kick can and hop it”
Though crotchety neighbours complained us to “stop it!”
Many the games, like yo yos and jacks
And Hide and Seek played down other folks backs.
And tunnelling through barns packed tight with sweet bales
With the smell of warm hay every time you inhaled
And sliding down chutes into vats of soft chaff
Where covered you lay there to rest and to laugh.
And prayed that the farmer was having his tea
Or it was serious trouble for siblings and me!!
The best game of all without doubt it was when
We were secretly building our hide out, a den.
Sometimes-in fields and sometimes in trees
And sometimes in ditches ajoining the lees.
With branches or rushes or grasses knee high
Unseen and unknown from all who passed bye.
But the secretest place, our own little lair
Was the small dark cubbyhole under the stair.
A curtain the entrance to magical cave
A flickering torch, the only light made.
For I was a witch who could brew a fine spell
And brother a wizard, and he could as well!
We `d cast our dark magic, brother and me
The world all around us would just cease to be
In dungeons and darkness we` d wander alone
Slaying huge dragons,before we came home
Woe betide anyone on foolish mission
To enter our cavern without our permission!
With “izzy and wizzy and wozzy and woo”
And “Turn into a cherry I tell you”
Our sister`s nose would turn bright red
A beacon, like Rudolphs, stuck onto her head!
And off she would go with a tale to our mum
And it was out of our lair for a jolly good smacked bum!
Sometimes, just sometimes, we d allow her to be
Under the stairs with us for biscuits and tea.
A picnic ambsosial sneaked to our lair
Each crumb watched like hawks to get a fair share.
Then check on our treasures in our own “usher box”
Have we been robbed? forced open our locks?
A black spell will fall on those stupid enough
To spy in my usher,or pinch any of my stuff!!
Those days are all gone now. My family all scattered.
But those growing up days, the ones that most mattered,
The days that will make you, the days that will mould,
The days that stay with you when you’re growing old
The days when my brothers and sisters and me
With the wind at our backs, ran joyfully free,
Live on in my memory, when I had no cares,
And weaved spells and made magic, under the stairs.