The door was painted green,
And the step was sandstone clean.
We washed half a halo round the door.
We made our clippy mat
Out of bits of this and that,
And laid it on the canvas on the floor.
We put sea-coal on the fire,
And when the flames were growing higher,
They spat out sparks upon our rosy legs.
Dad would mend our boots and shoes,
And make them look like new,
With a hammer and a card of silver segs.
With the lavy out the back,
And the coalhouse and the tap,
And the washing in the back street on the line.
If there was wind and sun,
And the coalman didn’t come,
The whole lot would be done by dinner-time.
We’d have dripping on our bread,
Army blankets on our bed,
Where we’d curl up cosy for the night.
To be woken at half past three
By a hungry little flea,
Hopping in to get a juicy bit.