MELLOW YELLOW MONDAY
YESTERDAY'S MILK
I, and others of my ilk,
Remember how they brought the milk
From door to door, come rain or shine,
Weather wet, or weather fine.
If, in snow, the milkman shivered,
Still the bottles were delivered.
In those days the milk had cream,
Very strange though that may seem.
It was a yellow layer at the top
And we treasured every drop.
It was syphoned off to add to sweets;
One of my childhood's little treats.
But birds were fond of cream as well
And down they flew at dawn, pell-mell,
To peck a hole in the cardboard top
And sip and sip! Would they ever stop?
We grabbed the milk before they came.
It was quite an amusing game.
At school we were given milk to drink;
To make us grow up strong, I think.
The Second World War had gone at last
(And that was like a permanent fast)
And so I think the powers that be
Thought we needed Vitamin C.
In Australia I am told,
The milk was hardly ever cold.
It was warm and sour when it got to school,
But 'Drink the lot!', that was the rule!
The milkman sadly seems to be
Consigned to the pages of history.
*
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BEACON IN THE NIGHT
By day, imposing, dominating, the centre of attention,
The place that Novocastrians always like to mention,The local Cathedral, on the hill, solid, wide and tall,
The centre of the city and towering over all.
But grey, yes grey, a mass of stone, muted against the blue.
Until night comes and then it's lit with a truly regal hue.
Golden yellow against the black, it glows with brilliant light,
'A beacon on the hill' indeed. A jewel against the night.
*
