MEMORIES OF EAST MALLING

East Malling was a village, all sleepy quiet and still,

Except for Standen’s bake house and Anscombe’s flour mill.

The cottages were ragstone in this little street,

Opposite the baker’s shop where all the folk would meet.

The mill made lovely flour and Standen’s bread was good,

And next door stood the Rising Sun with beer drawn from the wood.

Oh! Down the road was Pantony’s who owned the local farm,

Where the clatter of the milk pails and loud “mooing” broke the calm.

The baker was my Grandad and Annie was his wife,

We all loved our Grandma who always smiled at life.

Through all the tribulations that seemed to come her way

She’d smile saying “Never mind, there’ll be another day”.

She helped in that hot bakehouse and left the bread to cool,

Then she would get the breakfast and the children off to school.

The millstream rippled cool and clear to make the scene complete,

It served to wash the bakers carts and make them clean and neat.

And when he’d finished baking, Grandpa would dress up smart,

Dust the flour from his whiskers and load up his gleaming cart.

With G. S. on the harness and horses fresh and bright,

He would deliver far and wide sometimes into the night.

His customers were many, ‘twas a long hard working day,

And some of them were poorly off and found it hard to pay.

Back at home my grandma was left to do the bills,

Caring for the children, their pleasures and their ills.

But they didn’t ail much in those days of long ago,

The food was good and the air was pure and everything went slow.

But things don’t last forever and so there came a day,

When George at 66 years old caught flu and passed away.