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Tuesday, 25 July 2017


I am in a room the size of my Granny's scullery,
(You'll have to use your imagination), cosy and small.
Her square window looked out on the outside toilet door,
No view to speak of. My window looks out to several back gardens,
Including the Rooney's. It is summer rhubarb season
And Mister Rooney, Tommy, but always Mister Rooney
To us kids, would make his way from his house to ours carrying
A big bundle of red and green lengths, stalks to be chopped,
Sugared and simmered to a softness for crumbles and tarts.
Memorable Sunday salad teas and afters and Tommy Rooney played his part,
by the armful. 

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