I’m Mr. Nobody, for nobody knew
my name,
named after the gardens where I was found,
my only claim to fame,
as a baby I was left, on a doorstep
all forlorn,
a doctor decreed November [19]35, was the year
I was born,
Taken to the cottage homes, in Medomsley,
to be precise,
I grew up there during the war years,
it wasn’t very nice,
times were hard, we were hungry but couldn’t
say a word,
children, we were told should be seen
and not heard,
We were all awakened early, lots of chores
to carry out,
if they weren’t done property we would end
up with a clout,
At school we were “always”, treated
with distain,
we were only “homers”, they made that
very plain,
birthdays were not recognised, we never
received a card,
Christmas, one small gift, for which we gave
thanks to God.
No-one taught us the alphabet or how to
read and write,
we had no books or pencils, we were in a
saury plight,
food was mainly inedible, and not worth
a mention,
I’m now in the twilight of my years, contented
and on my pension.

I. Salkeld

From the memoirs of
Billy Salkeld.

Died 28th October
(Special thanks to Consett Library for scanning this and sending this in to us.)



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