Children of the workhouse part I (historical)

Father has no money,
He’s sending us away,
Father has no money,
We have to leave today,

We are leaving the workhouse,
That’s the only good thing,
We are leaving the workhouse,
But father, we cannot bring.

We’ve already lost our mother,
And now we lose you too,
We’ve already lost our mother,
Now we cannot hold onto you,

We are packing our belongings,
Few and far between,
We are packing our belongings,
None as there may seem,

You walk us to the station,
One son, three daughters,
You walk us to the station,
The parting will be torture,

You prolong the separation,
And stop us on the deserted road,
You prolong the separation,
And give us each a gift to hold,

To each of us a personalized gift,
That you had worked overtime for,
To each of us a personalized gift,
That you gave us four,

Mine was a notebook,
For my personal thoughts,
Mine was a notebook,
You had expensively bought,

When we all had our presents,
We carried on our way to the station,
We all had our presents,
But none felt elation,

For father, when will we see you next?
It could be many years,
For father, when will we see you next?
I know there will be many tears,

We have reached the train,
It is so squashed and crowded,
We have reached the train,
“Goodbye, we love you” we shouted.

Three hours later,
Tired of travelling,
Three hours later,
I hear a bell go ‘ding’,

I wake up my sisters,
Leaning against me,
I wake up my sisters
For we’ve arrived at the cotton industry…

*************************

To be continued.........