Do I wish I’d had a camera, back in fifty three?
Do I wish
I’d taken photographs, so now my friends could see?
Copper
coins and ice cream cones and leaving brought on tears
The magic
then of Jacque’s Arcade to a child of seven years.
“Dad,
please spare some pennies
But
you’ll have to lift me up”
And within
the sound of crashing waves
I’d try
the “Lucky Cup”
First penny
in, a ball drops out, I spin it round and round
Will it win
or will it lose, it makes a whooshing sound?
And then it
misses “Lucky Cup”, “You’ve lost that one my son”.
A small
face drops, Dad puts me down, and my first penny’s gone.
Another in,
three wooden balls, I roll them up the track
I’m only
small, not yet strong, they just keep rolling back.
Dad shows
me how, and with one flick the ball shoots up the slope
There’s
sixty on the score board now, but my score? - not a hope.
One penny
left, I reach tip toe and suddenly it’s gone
Lights
start to flash, a motor whirrs and father watches son.
An open
door, a man is hanged, his final retribution
It’s
stayed with me across the years, that fairground execution.
No, that
camera wasn’t needed, way back in fifty three
And I
didn’t need those photographs so others now could see
Where
Jacque’s once stood, they still bowl balls, but of a different kind
The memory
stays, I don’t need snaps, they’re safer in my mind.
But fun
costs more than pennies now
There’s
death and grown-up fears,
And
magic’s now in Life’s Arcade
To this
child of fifty years.
Copyright
© Colin P Cadle 1995 - All Rights Reserved
Footnote
This lovely poem has
been reproduced with the kind permission of Colin Cadle. Colin spent his
childhood holidays in Whitstable and now runs a web site providing
photographic images at www.colincadle.com
.
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