A PEA SOUPER
Years ago in England when I was growing up,
Pollution was a problem, yet we didn’t think so,
Thick fog, so dense that nothing was at all clear,
It came down, so you couldn’t see where to go.
A pea souper was usually a Thursday in the Potteries,
Thick greeny-brown fog came to hide everything away,
Familiar places vanished, the need to follow some wall
Or fence with your hands through the night and day.
Just going across the street brought fear to many a heart,
Your hand not there at arms length, the path just anywhere,
Few motorist ventured out, locals all stayed safe at home,
It was the poor visitors who abandoned their cars out there.
Follow the wall to the end of the street, then across the road,
Try and find the lamppost and then the big old holly tree,
Then there is no other guide to the safety of the corner store,
You call, “Is anyone there” but you are all alone, how can that be?
A kind hand without a face takes you where the store should be,
It’s not this far to walk, it only took me five minutes yesterday,
We tripped on the step we thought, but it was the root of a tree,
Someone with a rope came it’s coming from the store said he.
Back home the outer clothes were black, face and hands too,
No one went out again and dad stayed all day at his work,
These days I remember and fear creeps into my heart,
But when folks say it is very foggy I have to give a smirk,
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 1 January 2005