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For fifteen years they kept me, through the frightful years of war,
In uncertain times of poverty, when you dare not ask `for more`,
They fed me, and they clothed me, though they often went `without`,
And they filled me with parental love, of that, - there is no doubt.

I knew that times were hard for them, and that money was so scarce,
I remember Mother counting pennies slowly from her purse,
The pitying look upon her face, when she had `overspent`,
And the struggle that my parents had, - to save the weekly `rent`.

But this would alter, times would change, this lad would get a job,
The local `Pit`, would set him on, - this lad would earn a `bob`,
And this would be my glory, - the best day I ever had,
Handing my first pay - packet, - to my Mom and Dad.

For fifteen years, they struggled, - now the struggle I had changed,
`A worker` now, was this young lad, now their life could re - arrange,
Just three pounds did they take from me, the rest was mine to keep,
But to see the smile on my Mom`s face, would make this young lad weep.

I wept with pride for what they had done, in the barren years of war,
To hold a home together, when all was bleak before,
And I wept myself for my own pride, - for what I did that day,
When I stood there, - a mining lad, and said. - " Here you are Mom, - here`s my pay ".

( My first `pay bag` was £4. 17s, and sixpence. My Mom took £3 pounds and left me the rest.
I felt like a King ).

Rest in Perfect Peace, Mom and Dad, God Bless you both for being.
" Mine".
Mick. xxxx.

Copyright Mick Westwood

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