Cafeoutdoors.com: Old Geezer Jokes

Them Times

I sat with them many evenings
around their kitchen table in High Bank.
They seemed to me an ancient folk,
like persons from a different age --
which they were.

As the conversation began to flow
I became a time traveller
for these people had first-hand knowledge
of a disappeared era.
With their stories
and talk
they beckoned me back,
back to a world the called
"them times."

Back to a time
of rising with the sun,
planting by the moon,
and living off the land.

Back to a time of small fields and hedgerows,
quilts stretched out in frames,
barrels held together with hoops,
wheels circumscribed by iron rims,
and communities bounded by custom.

Back to a time
of water raised from a well,
mussel mud lifted from the river bottom,
soup ladled from the stock pot,
and humour extracted from predicament.

Back to a time
of banning the automobile,
prohibiting liquor,
resisting Daylight Savings Tim,
and guarding against extravagance.

Back to a time
of winding the winch for water,
pumping the organ for sound,
cranking the car for power,
and rocking the cradle for peace.

Back to a time
of manners,
morals,
church every Sunday,
and a rum bottle stashed in the grain bin.

Back to a time
of egg money in a cracked cup,
savings deposited in a sock,
a shiny quarter in the baby's hand,
and large brown pennies
on dead men's eyes.

Back to a time
of old men in new cars,
and new brides in old kitchens.

Back to a time
of winters without eggs,
Lent without meat,
workers without watches,
doctors without pills,
birthdays without presents,
weddings without honeymoons,
funerals without undertakers,
bedrooms without closets,
deals without signatures,
children without shoes,
women without choices,
and men without tears.

Back to a time of squaring fieldstone for foundations,
squaring logs for carrying beams,
squaring butter for barter,
and squaring opinion for acceptance.

Back to a time
of the spectre of debt,
the scourge of blight,
the plague of tuberculosis.
And the epidemic of guilt.

Back to a time
when a 'chain' was the measure of your property,
a 'skein' the measure of your yarn,
a 'teddy' the measure of your moonshine,
a 'grist' the measure of your grain,
and 'industry' the measure of your character.

Back to a time
of kittens in the barn,
chickens on the step,
rats under the barracks,
a runt piglet behind the kitchen stove,
and a 'buffalo' in the sleight.

Back to a time
of picking stones off the land,
mustard out of the oats,
bugs off the potatoes,
and burdocks out of the fleece.

Back to a time
of home remedies:
tansy tea,
sulphur and molasses tonic,
the mustard plaster,
kerosene in a spoon,
salt herring in your socks,
and cobwebs to stop the bleeding.

Back to a time
of separating cream from milk,
chaff from grain,
and Protestants from Catholics.

Back to a time
of free-range ducks in the yard,
and foraging visits
house to house
of the local gossip.

Back to a time
of following tradition,
following horses,
following politics,
and following in your parents' footsteps.

Back to a time
of the coming of the car,
the arrival of the tractor,
the installing of the lights,
the ringing in the telephone,
the intrusion of the radio,
the infiltration of new ideas,
the dying out of storytelling,
and
the beginning of the end
of "them times."

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