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"PAST PERFECT"...(A view of the YesterYears through Rose Colored Glasses)

.
In celebration of the New Year, here's a view of the Past, portrayed in the Heritage Folk Song I wrote in 2006 titled "PAST PERFECT", narrated by fictitious
'One Room School House' teacher, Mr. D'Arcy McGee.



Currently, I'm adding numerous more characters and converting this Folk Song fodder into a Story Book Adventure, situated on the Miramichi (" meer-m'shee ") River, New Brunswick, Canada.


Year of Our Lord - 1922

INTRO....

Girls in hair ribbons. The lads, woolen hats.
In desks with ink wells, in 8 rows, they sat.
Dumped the Slop Bucket on their way to school,
In home sewn Hand-Me-Downs...
...with bellies fulla gruel.
________________

PART ONE

Visiting the past gives a Window's Eye View
Of the progress attained since 1922.
Times were tough in the Good Ole Days.
Men scraped a living...
...the Old Fashioned Way.

So, listen up, folks, I've a tale to tell,
In bygone years, children knew me well,
As *aught to 8* teacher, Mr. McGee,
Now, withered with age...
...nigh on 93.

Many years I've lived on this Ole Miramichi,
Grew crops, raised kids and taught the A, B, C's.
Ten kids in a wagon hitched to an old mare.
Ride'n the dirt roads...
...to the County Fair.

UP with the rooster, filled the stove with wood,
To heat a tank of water, as best we could.
Put clothes in a tub with scrub board and soap.
Then, outside to be dried...
...pinned to a rope.

No closets for us. Just square nails on a wall.
One for clean rig'n. Then, a pair of overalls.
On the third nail was hung our Sunday Best,
To be worn on the Lord's Day...
...our Day of Rest.

Ole Nature would call and here's what we'd do,
Into the Outhouse, bare-footed we flew.
To find relief and idle with the dog,
Whilst eyeing the duds...
...in the Eaton's Catelog.

On Christmas morn, hidden under the tree,
Hockey skates and sticks for m'lads, there'd be.
A puffed sleeved dress for BESS, the wife on m'knee.
Wooden dolls for the girls...
...and a pipe, for me.

_______________

Oh, wait. What's ticking? ...Is that the time?
My, it's so late. I'll now end this rhyme.
Come back in a fortnight. For now, let me be,
To wander in dreams...
...of Ole Miramichi.


~~~*~~~


Deanna More/©Copyright 2006

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