Childhood Sounds

The landscape of my childhood has no sound.
It runs like a silent film, a set of pictures going round
With no piano playing at the side,
No voices raised, no dogs that bark.
No purring engines as buses stop and start.
No birds sing or children call slipping down the slide
Or running with a ball.

The scenes are set, the play will run its course.
Glimpses of people long gone and past. Living day by day
With no remembered songs to hear. And yet so familiar
When heard today. Music hall was not far away,
But the tunes of the times held their own.
The radio brought its soundscape
Against which our lives played out.

My aunt with her classics, the boys with their drums,
My cousin swoons as pop stars start to croon.
There was music around us, yet none I can hear.
No bells from the churches, no singing in the choir
Where once I stood, us kids from the neighbourhood.
Carefully phrased consonants ringing out strong
After weeks of practice and torturing the song.

But smells…I remember the smells of my youth.
They stay in my the corners of my mind and soothe
The fear of forgetting that lurks there too.
Bronnley lemon, soap with rainbows through
The windows in the bathroom. Happy warmth,
No room for gloom. A silent oasis of joy
To hold close as a treasure.