A BRUMMIE CHRISTMAS...

Christmas For A Brummie Boy Called Peter…

Each year was the same,

Or so it seemed.

A hunched pillow-case of white linen,

Bulky, its contents making sharp angles,

Simply begged to be investigated.

And I dreamed

Each year for the same,

Or so it seemed.

Toffees nestling in tins,

More than one ‘selection box’;

A gun in its holster,

Fruit stuffed in socks.

Plastic cowboys or army figures,

Dinky Toy car reproductions;

Liquorice replicas of smokers’ pipes, 

Metal puzzles with strange instructions.

The usual set of annuals,

Desperately sought

But disappointment palpable,

If any hadn’t been bought…

The pathetic compendium of games,

Sweet cigarettes tight in a packet,

But never something like a golf club,

Or even a tennis racket…

Painting by numbers was so lame,

And truly for me such a bore;

I always left them unfinished,

Being a long and terrible chore.

I hated those figures

In red rubber moulds quaint,

To be filled with wet plaster,

Then when dry needing paint.

But the horror for me to unwrap,

Causing complete mental destruction,

Was something technical, or mechanical,

Which entailed any kind of construction… 

Yet I guess the most acceptable

Gift of all for me was a ball:

A present simply to kick and head

Against the back-garden wall…

And so each year was the same,

Or so it seems now.

The stripped wrap, of garish colours,

Strewn, the contents making strange piles,

Simply begged to be investigated.

And I dreamed

Next year for the same,

Or so it then seemed…

Pete Ray

It really did seem to be the same year after year.

It wasn’t, I’m sure.

Charles Buchan’s Soccer Gift Book, the Roy of the Rovers Annual and the Dennis the Menace Annual were the must-have books.

Dinky Toy cars, model soldiers, cowboys and American Native Indians were welcome.

Liquorice and toffee were good. 

Selection boxes were cop-outs for buyers but those construction kits, such as Bayko, or Meccano were mind wrecking gifts of hell for me. 

Left-handed, you see… 

(My excuse and nothing will shake that.) 

A ball? Great stuff. 

Presents left in piles and I was outside, whatever the weather, kicking any ball. 

It’s what I did…