Rag and Bone Men By Jane Foster

Whilst languishing in bed this morning I heard the sound of men in the distance.. The ones from days long past, with carts and horses, Rusting spare parts, weathered necks, And that old familiar drone: Any Rag? Bone? Just these few words transport me back To a time not of McDonalds, Starbucks and Nike, But of cobbler, baker, post office and church. The days when shopping for goods was a pleasure, Spent at leisure, not such a drag: Any Bone? Rag? Bone, Rag. Rag, Bone. Stripped down to the bare essentials. The elements. Fire, water, stone. No soft furnishings, microwave meals, Playstations or Barratt homes. I hear two voices calling now, Getting closer, an urgent cry. You never hear two calls the same- My childhood one was 'Eeeeeny.. rag ' n' bone?' Each man has a separate style. Some of them have cut their traditional slogan Right down to the 'BONE!' Their call consisting of just this single word, Elongated, flat-vowelled, shouted at top volume 'Til it sounds like a foghorn. I wonder if it's because they've become lazy Like the rest of us today? Like me, lying in bed at 10.30, Relishing the sounds of a dying trade, Sad when the calls fade away.

Copyright ©2003  Jane Foster August 2004

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