Hard Times?

The kids are in bed - there are dishes to do Some washing, ironing, paperwork too Children, office, housework, sometimes I think life’s hard But it isn’t really, not when it’s compared To my mums, who rose up early and who was never late Lighting the coal fire, sitting in the grate She then cooked breakfast on a range, Haven’t things for me, now changed? Over the range for hours mum would slave Cooking meals, whereas I have a microwave And a vacuum, to clean this house of mine Mum used to beat rugs on her washing line, I have gas central heating, to keep the house warm For my waking up to electric alarm Then straight into the bathroom to have a shower With instant hot water, mum had to wait hours For the water to boil in her dolly tub With its mangle, her weeks washing to scrub A washing machine, daily, washes my clothes What I’d do without it, heavens knows And only a larder and pantry had mum, No fridges or freezers, with meals ready done; Between rudding steps and the range black leading, She always had time for games and for reading, My children don’t bother to go out to play They stay in their rooms, on computers all day, I guess each generation, has its ‘hard times’ I suppose at the moment, I feel this is mine But, on reflection, of the life my mum had I consider myself lucky; my ‘hard time’ is not so bad. © Janette Fisher – June 1995 I wrote this poem about 15 years ago when I was a bank manager and my girls were about 12 and 10