It’s nineteen forty-nine when I was eight years old.
It was cold and wet. I’m in short pants; it’s time for school.
At last a chance to drool over Jane who’ll
be on the bus today going into town. Two kids alone.
Some folk would frown at kids in town on their own
travelling on the bus, travelling on the train. Taking up space.
“What’s all the fuss?” I wondered. “Are we not part of the human race ?”
I took the bus to the West End of Princes Street
where people would tend to take a tram on Lothian Road
or Shandwick Place then start the trip to their place of work.
I stayed on the tram ‘til we reached our school at the terminus.
It seems ludicrous now but I’d wait for the driver behind the tram;
he’d pick me up, shorts and all and folly of follies, we’d change the trolley.
Today there’s no way you’d do the same. It’s a funny old game, i’ntit?