A Coat of Arms

Of course not knick-knacks for display -

the mantelpiece in fireplace days -

but neither hidden, to conceal;

for either treasure chest for keeps

or jumble drawer of ‘just in case’,

‘for now safe place’, ‘might need one day’.

So what’s my gold in odds and sods,

pure trash to others, pleasure, me?

Cuff blazer button, first teen school,

reminder of how black turns bright,

that grim need not be final word,

for serendipity holds sway.

For if that brass had ruled schooldays,

a prison term might soon replace;

but cityscape, my daily track,

that sad ballad of Peckham Rye,

became of Devon, rural rides,

encouragement and not rebuke.

The rat race, like my train to class,

Dad teaching on the Old Kent Road,

was too much for the health of all.

Great Western took us, dog and five,

into a scope I never knew;

milk came from cows, not bottled brew.

With Verdigris, near copper’s blue,

see now, recall the great escape

from sixties call of siren squad,

ring Mick McManus and the Krays.

My favoured film back then and yet,

was ‘if…’; for others knew the same.

Why do I keep this call to arms -

reminder, cuffs about my ears,

our books thrown out through window frames,

of prefects stalking, wearing gowns,

of slipper-wielding, staff enjoyed,

inducing sickness to evade?

I guess because they didn’t win.