The Good Old Days, 1970

The Good Old Days, 1970

We had one key for the whole front door

and left it under the mat

Mum said “If they want the telly that bad,

let them take it, cheeky rats”

Chippy tea came in newspaper

greasy, golden, hot and right

and no one moaned about the ink

we just licked our fingers, every bite

Milk got pinched or turned to cheese

on doorsteps in the sun

we blamed the dog, or next door’s lad

and laughed when the birds had some

We rode our bikes with no helmets on

and came home black with muck

you’d get a clip if you were late

but you got your tea and tuck

The telly had three channels then

and you were the remote

we’d fight for seats when wrestling came

and Nan knew every move and name

We made our phones from two tin cans

and string that sagged and snapped

no signal bars, just shouted words

and knees that always clapped

School jumpers itched, the custard clumped

the chalkboard gave us chills

but break time meant a wagon wheel

and dares on sloping hills

No mobile phones, no tracking apps

just “be back before it’s dark”

we learned our lessons in the street

and carved our names into the bark

The good old days were daft and rough

and smelled of Sunday stew

we didn’t have much cash at all

but somehow, everything felt so new