Picking Stones On A Bomb Site 1955.

I was picking up small stones 

for my catapult, 

on the bomb site 

off of Meadow Row with Ellen. 

It was Easter 

and the sun was out, 

and no school for a while. 

When I looked up 

I saw a rozzer coming 

cross the bomb site towards us. 

He walked like John Wayne 

with a casual gai.t 

Rozzer, 

I said to Ellen. 

She looked up and peered 

at the approaching cop 

through her thick lens glasses.  

Are we in trouble? 

she said. 

Don’t know, 

I said. 

The rozzer 

looked at us seriously. 

What are you two doing? 

he said. 

Picking up small stones 

for my catapult, 

I replied. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

This is private land, 

and those stones are not 

yours to pick up 

and take away,

he said. 

Just stones, 

I said. 

Put them back 

on the ground, 

he said. 

So we emptied our pockets 

and wiped our hands 

on our clothes. 

Now off you go; 

bomb sites are not playgrounds, 

he said. 

I sighed, 

and so we 

went off reluctantly, 

and he went off 

the oppose way back 

towards the New Kent Road, 

and we went along Arch Street 

and then down Meadow Row.  

What now? 

Ellen said. 

I know a bomb site 

off of Harper Road, 

I said, 

we can get stones from there 

Is it safe? 

she said. 

Sure, 

I said, 

and so we did.