Today’spoem

FATHER’S DAY

One of 13 children, born the eldest son, Obliged to plough through family chores before each day was done, He was constantly reminded as his childhood slipped away That early life had been much worse in his father’s day. Those same didactic weasel words had surely been passed on: Bromide handed down from every father to his son, So often quoted they’d become a dull cliche: ‘Things are so much better than in my father’s day.’ He maintained that he was happy: to hear dad reminisce Anyone would think that he’d led a life of bliss. Though his youth had been all toil, there’d been very little play, He was sure he’d had it better than in his father’s day. Too soon he reached the age where he’d be leaving school; He knew what to expect, he’d be following the rule: Regarded as a man, there’d be no more child’s play, That’s what was accepted in my father’s day. To work down a coal mine when aged just 14 Quite rightly today is considered obscene. ‘It wasn’t so bad, I was lucky,’ he’d say, ‘I’d have been sent up chimneys in my father’s day’. As yet there was no notion of that dreaded word ‘teenage’,

So the family was delighted to accept his meagre wage. He was willing, even eager, to hand in all his pay, Helping make life better than in his father’s day. He’d lived through the Depression, the horrors of war, Seen life’s fabric changing more than ever before. And though he’d always led a life we’d now see as austere, He’d get to see the North Sea coast at least once a year. There’ve been so many changes: we’re now allowed to stray From all the old conventions, almost anything’s OK. But whichever way you look at it, take it as you may, Life is so much better than in my father’s day.