Away For The Day ©

Pictures of ladies in old hats and coats,
With floral-print scarves tied under their throats,
Laughing and smiling whilst seeming at ease,
Seeking out shelter from the cold summer breeze,
Old ladies sit, for the young need no seat,
Away for the day to a coastal retreat,
Catching up with the gossip that goes all around,
Heard on street corners in each seaside town.

Most arrive early, some before nine,
Cramped carriages creak along old railway line,
Where clickety-track meets rickety wheel,
For mums it's a chore but for kids a big deal,
A kind of adventure where treasure's the goal,
But you can't tell your mum or one living soul,
For you know they'll betray you so it's best not to say,
Because all those fine jewels must be hidden away.

So into the station and the children now rise,
Complaining of hunger, sleep still in their eyes,
Then out in the street, just two minutes there,
Taking great mouthfuls of refreshing sea air,
Shepherding children while trying to wake up,
Drinking tea in a café from a small Pyrex cup,
Outside the weather is clearing up fast,
As the town tries in vain to capture it's past.

High upon street lights some bunting still blows,
Faded posters on walls advertise long-dead shows,
Street sweepers are busy with no time to lose,
Picking up stone-cold chips wrapped in yesterday's news,
Headlines that speak of death or of scandals,
Are dumped into bins beside bottles and sandals,
Meanwhile the baker, up the road from the station,
Is dressing his shopfront with a fancy creation.

A large wedding cake is the window's new star,
And all for the price of a family car,
Collecting belongings they head for the door,
Counting the money that they wish was now more,
Crossing the road that leads down to the sand,
Buckets and spades now firmly in hand,
Children now racing ahead of their mums,
Greet other small kids their soon-to-be chums.

Trousers and skirts are removed in a flash,
To the edge of the sea with a 100-yard dash,
Squidging through seaweed and stepping on stones,
So far so good, there are no broken bones,
Mums roll out towels and take off their shoes,
Close their eyes from the sun and try not to snooze,
Small yachts glide past though well out to sea,
As mums on the beaches are pouring their tea.

Shouting out to the kids to come get their sarnies,
Repairing the cuts and the bruises from barneys,
The sun now so high that the day seems to quicken,
Wolfing down spam or pieces of chicken,
Cakes will be eaten, chocolate and then pop,
For kids like to eat but don't know when to stop,
Then it's back to the largest sandcastle there's been,
Where chivalrous knights are saving their queen.

Battles commence and continue all day,
Where a moat and some turrets keep marauders at bay,
Rockpools are searched for crabs that don't bite,
Toes tucked away safely just in case they might,
Drawings are made with a stick and some stones,
Shells are collected plus assorted fish bones,
The water, now colder, is lapping to shore,
Covering all that there was to explore.

Above and unseen by the children at play,
Lies the first sign that marks the near-end of their day,
Winds are a-changing and clouds roll on by,
As the dark shadows show on the sand from on high,
Small numbers depart but most shall remain,
Until battered by wind and soaked through with rain,
Children run over and start to get dressed,
Some mums are ignored and that gets them stressed.

A quick tour of the shops and a small toy to remind,
Of a day at the seaside when the weather was kind,
Then it's off to the station to catch the train home,
The adventure is over and there's no need to roam,
So many years later and we look at these snaps,
Of the old-fashioned folk with their faded old caps,
But we feel deep inside that something remains,
Of ourselves as small kids on the Day-Away trains.