ROSES in December, is how our memories are described, 


Kids of the 50s era were tough, we never cried, 


We played hop-scotch, bung off and knock and run


We didn’t realise it was dark, we were having to much fun.


On Saturdays it was into town, to get Mam’s shopping.


Then a quick detour to Rothery’s to do some bopping


Rothery Radio was the name of our record shop.


Where we listened in booths with headphones to the latest pop.


Records by Cliff, Elvis and Billy, 


I thought I would marry him, I was so silly.


Then Saturday night it was home-made hot-pot for tea,


served with extra cabbage, oh no thanks, not for me. 


Sunday morning was church and like ducks in a row,


In our Sunday best togs, we put on quite a show


Then back home to play out, first changing into play rags.


No fashion labels for us, and no designer tags


Sunday tea we enjoyed Mam’s home-made custard pie


Then early to bed, no backchat just a silent sigh. 


Bido