Well, not exactly a chimera, but not a tea-set either.
Beautiful poem, Holly.
Old Smells
My kitchen smelled of drying sheets.
My mother smelled of lemon sweets.
My nursery smelled of orange juice
And Bruce, my friend, just smelled of Bruce.
School smelled of chalk and milk and sweat.
Cinemas smelled of cigarette,
And so did buses on the tops
And so did lots of kinds of shops.
Newspapers smelled of printer’s ink.
The rag-and-bone man smelled of drink.
The coal-man’s wagon smelled of horse.
The coal-man smelled of coal of course.
The railway stations smelled of smoke.
My boiled eggs smelled of buttered yolk.
My grandma smelled of toast and tea.
Poor people smelled of poverty.
That last line is absolutely true I can remember it vividly. The smell was difficult to describe but parts of Edinburgh, like the Grassmarket really did smell different. I would like to know whether old newspapers smelled different too. I think they did, but one forgets.
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