Fruit Salad

   Pocket money, none,

   but I know where

   there is    

   a shiny
   six-penny piece…

   Sixpence will buy

   an awful lot of goodies,

   fruit salad, black jacks

   just a farthing each,

   that’s twenty-four

   lovely 
   sugary confections

   to delight my taste buds,

   chew to high heaven,

   stick in the gaps

   between my teeth. 

   …will I?

   Tis summertime

   as the four of us

   in gingham dresses,

   catch sticklebacks

   in glistening stream;

   blow bubblegum,

   suck sherbet lollies –

   tis all the stuff

   of childhood dreams.

   But then

   there is my conscience…

   oh there you are

   trying to hide amongst

   the flying saucers,

   pineapple chunks

   and liquorice sticks;

   fruit salad luscious

   sweet’n’lovely

   brings no pleasure,

   leaves a sour taste

   upon my lips.

   Anna :o]

   Victoria’s prompt at dVerse is to write of childhood memories.

   When asked what my most vivid memory is – it is always that of the above.  During my childhood sweets were not everyday expectations rather a Christmas, birthday, Easter egg or an occasional treat thing.  Of course, well-earned Saturday pocket money could be spent on them along with a comic or a little toy – however pocket money then was not a fortune – but enough for us and gratefully received.

   One Saturday saw me without any as I had been naughty (can’t remember how) and I so wanted some sweets to take along and share with my friends.  I knew my mum saved sixpences in a long narrow tube painted as a pillar-box, specifically designed to accommodate forty and thus a pound (and they were calling me, oh how they were calling me).   So I stole two. 

   My pleasure was short lived and I was overcome by guilt, a guilt which was to burden me for years to come.  I attempted to ease my conscience by buying my mum extra special birthday, Christmas or ‘just because’ presents – but it never worked.  Some thirty years later I confessed – mum had never realised, never missed the shilling – but I knew and that was important, important that I knew it was wrong.

   Why do we remember some but forget most of our childhood – I don’t know and I don’t think scientists do either.  Why did this particular memory become crystallised – was it because I first experienced the emotion of guilt then and couldn't let it go?

   On a lighter note -does anyone remember the original wrapper of Fruit Salad?  In my (?false) memory it was light coloured pink and green stripes with a picture of fruit at the centre – certainly not that gaudy orange stuff – do you remember?

  (Can't explain the white background  - although Blogger is tell me I/it is experiencing problems...)