MARKET DAY
by
Mary Druce

When my old granny used to run this stall
The market day was Wednesday – that was all.
But now us stallholders in Albert Square
Are here six days a week – it’s just not fair.
And if you’re not, they’ll take yer pitch away.
Yes, every day is bleedin’ market day.

But I’m not wallowing in discontent.
At least I’ve got a job – it pays me rent.
And though I have to get up in the dark
Most of the time I find it quite a lark.
The stallholders are all me mates, you see,
And buy me bacon rolls and cups of tea.

I’ve got the cheeky chat, I’ve got the patter,
And even if I con then, what’s it matter?
These toffs come ‘ere just so that they can say
‘I’ve been down the East End on market day!’
It makes a welcome change from ‘nine-to-five’;
So I just help to keep the dream alive.

Come on now, love, these tops are all designer,
New in from Italy – or was it China?
(Well, somewhere foreign, anyway). The latest line.
A bargain, girls, at fourteen ninety-nine!
And, ‘cos I’m feeling gen’rous, just for you,
For thirty smackeroos I’ll do you two!

Yeah, try it on, love, go behind the screen,
That’s what it’s there for – so you won’t be seen.
I’ve got that skirt in pink and eau-de-nil,
So maybe we could do a little deal?
OK then, just the one, in green and grey
I’ll put it in a carrier right away.

I’ve got a range of clothes in every size,
So take a look – you won’t believe your eyes!
This stretchy fabric flatters every figure
A twelve? No, sweetheart, you need something bigger.
I’d say a twenty-two without a doubt.
No-one will know – just cut the label out!

And though I give advice, try as I might,
The customer, they say, is always right.
These sequinned boob-tubes are the sort of things
That never should be worn with bingo wings.
But money’s money. Do I give a damn
If they end up like mutton dressed as lamb?


Hey girls, just take a gander – come and see!
You’ll find something to suit, I’ll guarantee.
A strappy party dress, or skimpy shorts
To give yer boyfriend rude and lusty thoughts.
A nifty pelmet skirt; a sexy thong
Or crotchless knickers. Kid, you can’t go wrong!

(Short pause)

The sun is sinking slowly overhead;
I’m thinking wine and supper, bath and bed.
So all I have to do is load the stuff
Back in the truck. It’s late –I’ve had enough. . . .
Someone’s just nicked a dress from off the rack!
Oi, you! You little bleeder, bring it back!