Up on the hill
In the posh areas
Where the Victorian villas
Were set back from tree lined roads,
The gas lamps in the streets were
Wrought iron, carved and elegant.
The lampleerie would open them
And light each lamp
One by one.
As each glowed with a warm soft light
They seemed like necklaces;
Shining jewels beading
Their way around the night.
Down near the docks
The tenements were dark and dank.
Their closes shadowed
With children's ghostly fears.
But every night at twilight
Our leerie came down from the hill.
With his long pole
He stretched up, turned on the taps.
Spluttering flames first blue
Then coming to brilliant life,
Spreading wide arcs of welcoming light.
And all our bogeymen took flight.
Again you transport me back in time I remember the leerie well we used to follow him on his rounds
Margery, ahh, the power of candle light! ''...Spreading wide arcs of welcoming light. And all our bogeymen took flight...'' Still works for me 60+ years later! Rgds, Ivan
Margaret, So evocative & I can learn a few Scots words too!
Another flash from the past. This is such an interesting piece about a long ago time, and told from such a warmly personal perspective that it carries much emotional weight. I would love to see more of your 'Flashes from Childhood'. love, Allie xxxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The gas lamps were before my time, but you've shown them to me now. Danny