We didn’t have much money but none of us did then;

I hope we never see those austere times come back again.

But Mam and Dad both did their best for Linda and for me

So once a year we’d take the train for Skeggie-by-the-Sea.

We packed our sheets and blankets and put-ups for our bunks

But worst of all embarrassments we packed the woolly trunks.

 

The woolly trunks were legend; mam knitted them, of course

I pleaded not to wear them but they put mine on by force.

Dad had a bigger pair as well and both pairs were maroon.

I never saw the wisdom of wearing wool in June

But stoically he bit his tongue because we were not rich

He knew that we could not afford two pairs that didn’t itch.

 

That’s just the start;  though wearing them was always such a squeeze

As soon as you went in the sea they hung down to your knees.

They’d nearly hold a gallon of Skegness’s cold North Sea

So as you walked back up the beach you seemed to have a pee.

But worse still was your tickle tackle, there on public view

Despite the water’s temperature revealed, though shrunk and blue.

 

So if you’re on Levante Beach in sunny Benidorm

Or rather in some paradise that’s tropical and warm

Where women on the sands might wear no more than a sarong

Or even sunbathe topless with their bottom in a thong

And men display tight buttocks as muscular young hunks

Just try to think what they’d look like in knitted woolly trunks.