I remember the cheese of my childhood,
and the bread we cut with a knife,
when children helped out with the housework,
and men went to work, not the wife.
The cheese never needed an ice chest,
the bread was so crusty and hot,
the children were seldom unhappy,
and the wife content with her lot.
I remember the milk from the billy
with yummy rich cream on the top
our dinners came hot from the oven
and not from some fridge in a shop.
The kids were a lot more contented
they didn't need money for kicks
but a game with their mates in the paddock
and sometimes the Saturday flicks.
I remember the shop on the corner
where a penny worth of lollies were sold
do you think I'm a bit to nostalgic
or is it I'm just getting old?

Getting old is the lot of us all mate
though most thoughts we recall are true,
there's still bread for your knife if you want it
and children who'll cut it for you.
When men went to war their ladies
unleashed from the bonds that bound
found they could do what they wanted;
brought home a more valuable pound.
Kids dinners were scones and dripping
baked with both eyes full of smoke
the billy of tea was leaky
and contentment was somebody's joke.
They walked miles to the flicks on weekends
without a spare penny to spend
saved up by their mothers, unable
to buy kero to light up and mend.
The old bloke of course got his beer
got three meals served every day
from the little his missus was given
maybe a third of his personal pay.
Happy they were and hungry
the wife who slaved for her man
kids barefooted and ragged
with nobody giving a damn.
So some got the cream on the top
of the watered down milk retained
had some money to visit the shop
while the rest being broke refrained.
Reality we never remember.
We forget the blood and the gore
like soldiers who return from a battle
from a nostalgic old horrible war.
No! Yesterdays never were better
nor can dusk be better than dawn
the past is the error we learn from
from where all wisdom is born.