- Contributed by
- Genevieve
- People in story:
- May Wallbank (Mother) and Sylvia (Daughter)
- Location of story:
- The Midlands
- Background to story:
- Civilian
- Article ID:
- A6084434
- Contributed on:
- 10 October 2005
The writer would remind you that times were very tough
No-one had much money
What you had was never enough.
One thing the working man did have was a three-piece Sunday suit
Worn at Weddings, Funerals and on Sundays
The Cockney mans whistle and flute.
Always on a Monday the suit would have to be pawned
Joey would lend you five bob, charge you six to redeem
As soon as your next pay-day dawned.
The air-raid sirens sounded, together Mother and me
Took shelter in our Anderson
“Safe as houses” she said we would be.
We heard the bombing up above, was it the end of the world?
Doodle bugs (flying bombs) exploding
Like cannon balls being hurled.
Is God very angry? I remember thinking
There was a foot of water in Anderson
Oh Dear! All are sinking.
At last it was all over; we heard them sound the all-clear
The voice from above was the Fire Warden
“Just making sure you still ‘ere”.
Dressed in my wartime siren suit, I stood by the entry door,
I heard Mother shout “It’s Joeys what’s copped it
Tomorrow I’ll find out more”.
Joey the Pawnbroker had been bombed, his shop burned to the ground
He and his family had all escaped
But his shop and its contents were no longer around.
Just imagine the weeping, the wailing and the fear
“Heavens above”, wailed the wives, “Just what can I do?
My husband’s suit is not here”.
In those days a man rules the roost in his house
A wife was only a chattel
Her manner was always very subdued, just like a frightened mouse.
Many a wife held her head well down, so no-one would see her shame
Many a man drank ale in the pub
“Me Sunday suit’s gone, and I know who to blame”.
The men all stood around, came to terms with their loss
Well, five bob from Joeys would buy a half-gallon of ale
Their Sunday suit had gone, but they could still have the dosh!
All’s well that ends well, a black-eye time always heals
But just you remember this tale of the Sunday suit
When next you do Pawnbroker deals.
This poem was submitted to the People’s War site by Becky Barugh of the BBC Radio Shropshire CSV Action Desk on behalf of Sylvia Castello who has very kindly given us her permission to do so. Sylvia fully understands the site's terms and conditions.
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