5. School Dinners

I remember in the fifties, I stayed for my school dinners
At six sided tables, with six chairs to match
I remember on walls, having all the art class winners
Whilst the dinner ladies served our food by batch

I remember lots of water, in a very large glass jug
With a glass for every diner in its place
I remember as I poured, it would give out a sudden glug
Causing droplets that would often hit your face

I remember smelly cabbage, with lots of lumpy mash
A tray sliced up with equal bits of pie
I remember thick brown gravy, it landed with a splash
That could blind you if it got you in the eye

I remember all the puddings, with custard steaming hot
You could only have if finishing your greens
I remember all the groaning as we finished off the lot
And the sickly taste from piles of butter beans

I remember taking turns, to have the custards skin
Had to scrape it off before the stuff would pour
I remember in the fifties, that none of us were thin
As the puddings kept us going back for more

poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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