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Baby Pony Big Fun


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There. Loads of dead. Little kiddie. All in bits. I had to Games There, there. Have a good cry. Cor! This Beveridge report! Sickness pay, unemployment pay, old age pensions, kiddies welfare, free medicines, free hospitals. Don’t read, Ernest. Help! Social security from the cradle to the grave. The welfare state. It’s what the workers have always fought for. We’ve won! It will have to be paid for. Course it will. We all chip in, that’s the whole idea. You can’t chip in if you’re out of work, or off sick, or on a pension. No, well Games Course not. It’s all got to be worked out. It’s economics, see? Economics will see to it. There. All done. Oh, Ernest. I know. I know. Auntie Flo. Yes, dear? Mm Games I wish I could sleep in my own bed again. Course you do, dear. That Mr. Hitler’s on the run now, Raymond. I’m sure you’ll be back in London soon enough. There. All done. You there?! What’s up, Ette? Dearest, I’ve been promoted. Clerk, grade B. Cor! No more packing parcels in that rotten freezing warehouse? No, I’m going to work in an office. And that’s not all, Ette. Look, a letter from our boy. They reckon he can come home now. Oh! Oh, Ernest! That’s it, son. Cup of tea, boysie? Thanks, Dad. That country air has got you fit. Dad? Come on, son! Down the shelter! Run! Take cover! Doodlebug! Get down, son! Get down! Engine’s cut out. Christ, it’s coming down! Cor. That was close. I didn’t know they were bright blue underneath, Dad. Come on, son. Shelter. Before any more of the blighters come over. We’d better get you back down the country tomorrow. Crikey, dear. Sounds like a lot got through tonight. I can’t hear anything. Hold tight, duck. Some shelter. Full of glass. Morrison shelters. That Mr. Morrison must be a proper twerp.


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