We ain’t finished yet (Talking about my generation)

We ain’t finished yet (Talking about my generation)

We’re the teenage rebels of the fifties who survived

We were living through the swinging sixties as we pleased

We’re not finished yet if fact we’ve been revived

We’re still seeking for the change and to be believed

We said our farewells to beatniks and to duffle coats

We were the biker boys with our polished machines

Leather-studded jackets silk scarves around our throats

Rebelling against the suited figures setting out new scenes

The wild changed when the sixties melodies came along

Our voices now were louder and we demanded to be heard

The decade of the Beatles Kinks Rolling Stones and song

Riding on our Vespas and Lambrettas giving society the bird

We stood up to class distinction demanding our education

Marched against apartheid to tear down the colour bar

Stood against warmongers demanding an explanation

We had the better weapons our voices and a guitar

You can play your ICE and MAGA cards we ain’t deterred

Hippies Teds Mods and Rockers we’re still around

We’ve got the vision your fantasy future is blurred

Never gonna win we’re rising from the underground

We may be old and grey but we’re still the force

We’re not intimidated by the puppet’s threat

Our message is for peace and just to reinforce

It’s about my generation You ain’t seen nothin’ yet

Copyright: David Hopcroft July 2025

Village Hall Christmas 1959

Village Hall Christmas 1959

Wind howling along country lanes

Lights flickering upon the hills

Where wives were busy at the stove

Whilst husbands fed the cattle in their stalls

Kitchens filled with smells of baking

Tables laid with bowls of trifle

Sprinkles and whipped cream on top

The trunk loaded the family piles in the car

Excited children cramped on the back seat

Cars parked in gateways near the hall

The small brick building already overflowing

A short play with Mary Joseph and the baby

A few carols belted out without harmony

A time when we knew every verse

Then the rush to the kitchen tables

To stuff young bellies full of food

Dad’s swilling down the pints of beer

Wives downing glasses of fine Port

Mountains of mince pies varnishing

Hills of sausage rolls washed away

Neatly stacked turkey sandwiches

Toppled as hungry mouths are filled

Trifle gobbled up from dishes

A Christmas tree in a bucket

Shedding needles in the heat

Windows strewn with greenery

Paper chains pinned to the beams

The crackle of the needle on a 78

Signals that a dance has now begun

Lux flakes sprinkled upon the boards

Slow swaying on a crowded floor

I look for Olwen and find a smile

In my dreams she was always mine

Sybil guides her partner towards the door

A quick exit into the cloaks

A little bit of You know what for

The clock slips past the midnight hour

Weary bodies pile back into cars

Home to get a few hours of sleep

Then rising to feed cattle and sheep

The party a symbol of village unity

A gathering that binds us in the countryside

Depending on each other for community

The love that neighbours show with pride

I wonder if that Christmas spirit is still alive

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2024

A Fifties Christmas

A Fifties Christmas

Practice readings at the church

Carols being sung at each assembly

Classrooms decorated with holly

Someone’s dad gifted the school a tree

Making cards to send to friends

Days when Christmas was free

Cones collected for decoration

Greenery from a fir

Cutting coloured paper for chains

Excitement building by the day

Lunchtime music in the hall

Listening for a Christmas hit

Singing ‘Mary’s Boy Child’

And ‘Just Walkin’ in the Rain’

As we walked home along the lane

Word spreading at the youth club

Farmers offering the use of vans

Bumping up the country lanes

Piling out at the gate

Lanterns swaying in the wind

Gloved hands cling to sheets of words

Strains of music through the wind

The First Noel blared out

Johnny leads us with a Squeeze Box

Top of our voices we don’t care

The door opens and we see smiles

A farmyard carol singers fest

Each smallholding must be blessed

We’ll even sing for the magistrate

Who offers each a pie and cake

Copyright: David Hopcroft December 2024