Grey Saturday 1955 Poem by Terry Collett

Helen and Benny
walked over the bomb site
off of Meadow Row.

It was early
Saturday morning
and they were going
to the morning matinee
at the ABC cinema.

My doll Battered Betty's arm
has broken off,
she said.

How comes?
Benny said.

My brother swung it round
and it broke off,
she said.

Can't your dad mend it?
Benny said.

He said will look at it;
I hope he can;
Betty's my best doll ever
and I have had it since
I was little,
she said.

They came off
the bomb site
and stood on the kerb
watching traffic
going past.

Should have gone
to the crossing,
Helen said,
be quicker.

So they walked up
to the crossing,
and stood there,
and the traffic stopped
and they walked across
to the other side,
and walked past
the fish and chip shop.

I went there last night
with my old man,
Benny said,
after we'd been
to the cinema
to see a Western film.

You get out more
than I do,
Betty said,
I haven't been
to the cinema
except for matinees
for ages.

Maybe next time
I go with my old man
I can ask
if you can come,
Benny said.

O that would be good,
Benny,
if my parents
allow me to,
Helen said.

They got to the cinema
and there was a long queue
of kids,
so they joined it
and waited.

The traffic passed by,
and a dull greyness hung
in the morning sky.
KI