Who remembers when the sun still shone?
And the daffodils swayed in the breeze?
And I’d sit on the porch with a pouch full of marbles,
And pick at my scabby knees.
Who remembers the day that the calf,
In the fields beyond Lindem Deane,
All caught foot rot in the mud that brought autumn,
And the dampness that came with the rain?
Who was there when the vicar from Wales,
Sat down and then never got up?
And the village was supposedly haunted that day,
By the vicar that lived in a hut.
Who was there when the fire of June,
Burnt the barn where the lambs would reside?
And my granddad cried for the very first time,
When the ewes and their children all died.
Who was around when the bracken grew thick?
And the heat drew freckles on skin,
And I’d sit with my grandma by the kitchen stove,
And store home made cake in a tin.
I remember the days in the village,
Those were spent in the hazy sun,
And the village policeman would ride past on his bike,
And the children from the school would all run.
Those were the days that passed in a blast,
And I look back and smile when I think,
Those were the days that made me what I am,
And they all seemed to pass in a blink.
