Fish and chips today for tea,
A fish for Gran, a fish for me.
I buy them at the corner place,
From smiling Meg of rosy face.
Meg sees the small boys lick their lips
At battered fish and golden chips.
Her apron’s white, her hands are red;
She sees the hungry thousands fed.
For sixpence more there’re peas as well,
Mushy peas with gorgeous smell;
And butter beans on Friday night,
Pale, steaming beans for your delight.
The counter’s white, the walls are pink,
The shelves hold lemonade to drink.
The fat is hissing in the pan,
And soon I hurry home to Gran.
The chips look good, they taste the same,
They’ve won our Meg some local fame.
Fish and chips today for tea,
A fish for Gran, a fish for me.
A. Elliott-Cannon