CHRISTMAS FOR A BOY CALLED PETER: A POEM FOR THE SEASON...

Christmas For A 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 crass instructions.

A fixed set of annuals,

Desperately sought,

But disappointment palpable

If any weren’t bought…

A pathetic compendium of games,

Sweet cigarettes tight in a packet,

But never a golf-club for me,

Or even a tennis racket…

The awful painting by numbers,

Truly tedious, a terrible bore:

Always abandoned unfinished,

A long and intricate chore.

I hated too those figures

In red rubber moulds quaint,

To be filled with wet plaster

Then when dry needing paint.

But the horror for me was to unwrap

What caused total mental destruction:

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 begging to be investigated.

And I dreamed

Next year for the same,

Or so it then seemed…

Pete Ray

LEFT-HALF FOR THE SCHOOL TEAM, LEFT-BACK FOR THE SALTLEY DISTRICT TEAM...
BOTH TEAMS WORE GREEN AND WHITE SHIRTS, STRANGELY...

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. 

HORROR...

AAAARRRGGGHHHH...

Left-handed, you see… 

(My excuse and nothing will shake that.) 

A ball? Great stuff. 

THIS CAR BELONGED TO BOB CAROLGEES OF SPIT THE DOG FAME, BEFORE ME.
MY DAD WAS HIS FAMILY'S 'INSURANCE-MAN'...

MY BAT... BUT I NEVER HAD WHAT I ALWAYS WANTED:
THE WICKETKEEPER'S GLOVES AND PADS...

Presents left in piles and I was going outside, whatever the weather to kick my new ball. 

LOVED THESE...

It’s what I did… 

HAPPY NOW...