Heritage Bulletin blog
The Heritage Bulletin Blog ran from July 2012 to January 2020, covering a huge range of subjects, from a day in the archives, to extracts from the WVS bulletins, and histories of various WVS/WRVS services.
It’s 219 articles have become a valuable resource in themselves, why not search them or just browse to discover something new.
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Today I thought I would share with you all a poem that one of the volunteers found this morning and had them all chuckling away at how true it was. It was written by a member of the WRVS CAMEO. Luncheon Club, Lytham St. Annes for their Christmas party in 1973. The club was run for the physically handicapped and elderly people of the town. Its name means ‘Come And Meet Each Other’
I'M FINE, THANKS!
There is nothing the matter with me,
I'm as healthy as can be,
I have arthritis in both my knees
And when I talk, I talk with a wheeze;
My pulse is weak and my blood is thin
But, I'm awfully good for the shape I'm in.
Arch supports I have for my feet
Or I wouldn't be able to be on the street,
Sleep is denied me every night,
But every morning I find I'm all right.
My memory is failing, my head's in a spin
But I'm awfully well for the shape I'm in.
The moral is this, as this tale I unfold,
That for you and me who are growing old,
It's better to say ''I'm fine" with a grin,
Than to let folks know the shape we are in.
How do I know that my youth is all spent?
Well, my "get up and go" has" got up and went",
But I don't really mind when I think with a grin
Of all the grand places my "get-up" has been.
Old age is golden, I have heard it said,
But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed,
With my ears in a drawer, my teeth in a cup,
My eyes on the table for when I wake up;
Ere sleep comes to me - I say to myself
Is there anything else I should lay on the shelf?
When I was young my slippers were red,
I could kick my heels right over my head,
When I grew older my slippers were blue,
But I still could dance the whole night through.
Now I'm old - my slippers are black,
I walk to the store and puff my way back,
I get up each morning and dust off my wits,
Pick up the papers and read the Obits.,
If my name is still missing, I know I'm not dead
So I get a good breakfast and go back to bed.