HOLIDAY CAFE
I knew a little café at a famous holiday place,
It was so pretty from the outside, full of grace,
Small tables for two with clothes so white,
And umbrellas of red so fresh and bright.
There were potted plants of different flowers,
Soft sweet music a place to relax for hours,
The smell was like the good homemade kind,
A busier place for eating was hard to find.
Inside was like a cottage, and inglenook and all,
With check curtains at the windows, thick old walls,
With wooden tables, polished and worn with old age,
And hanging on beams, parsley, thyme and sweet sage.
We often went there for English tea when on holiday,
Crumpets with home made butter and jam came our way,
Followed by fruit and cream that always tasted the best,
All served on bone china and that always past the test.
During the war it stayed open until one very tragic day
When, aiming for the guns a bomb went a little astray,
And that pretty little café became just a loving memory,
The owner said ‘it’s worth losing if freedom comes our way.’
(Millicent) Ann Margetson 6 July 2006