by An Old Codger

Author: Neil Davies

Old Nain Jones sits by her front room window,
Her lace net curtains hanging still and low,
Watching life on the street outside,
With memories of when it was always cleaned with pride.

Old Ted is out there still delivering coal,
Once a fine young man, played in goal.
Ah! Young Nell has just caught his eye,
As she struts her stuff passing by.

Tom ‘pony’, with his dicky bow so new,
Chatting to the neighbours as councillors do.
He’ll not get Nain’s vote any more,
Even if he comes knocking on her door.

Reverend Aurelius walks by in earnest,
His long black cassock not at its best,
Safety pins secure, he’s christened, married, buried so many,
Rarely carries money, not even a penny.

He lives by candlelight, as so many others do,
Times home visits when he senses a pot of stew.
His old purple clerical bag provides some daily ease,
A bible, bread, and a lump of cheese.

There’s ‘Flowing Health’ now passing by so slowly,
Bent over by years of toil and worry,
Off to buy her daily paper from Dai Thomas’ shop,
And her usual bottle of Penderyn ‘pop’.

A slight shift of the crisp starched net,
To catch ‘Fat Jack’ off to place his bet.
Stops to chat to that floozy Nell,
His wife will surely give him hell.

‘Midnight Gwen’ just left on the afternoon town bus,
Nain Jones knows well what goes on in that metropolis.
“Brazen lass” she utters, her closing curtain in need of repair,
Sits back in her antimacassar covered armchair.

Old Nain Jones sits daily by her front room window,
Those memories were of times when things were slow,
Now tarnished by the life she sees,
A life where no one ever says thanks or please.

A life of instant gratification,
Spreading throughout our divided nation.
No Sunday chapel in modest dress and hat,
Bodies now revealing coloured ink of this and that.

Old Nain Jones is a lonely soul I fear,
Has lost her friends and loved ones dear.
Overtaken by a life so changed, so fast,
Seeks comfort from the memories of her past.

We old codgers do our best to keep on top,
But on occasions we mutter it has to stop.
But as change continues, it’s direction that matters,
Get it wrong, and the world will end up in tatters.