England-by-the-Sea (Up North)
(Written after an afternoon in Whitby, North Yorkshire, ey, twas a grand day)
It was the best of British
Seaside times and the
Holiday folk relaxed for a while.
Unshackled by the yoke
Of routine and the daily grind,
A chance to unwind, though royally
Battered by a keen wind reminding
Them that this is summer - up North.
Where the day trippers pray for sun
And when it returns after a night time
Deluge, they stroll in family packs
And couple goals, stories to be told to
The young uns, as we grow old with
Memories made in sun and shade and
Promenade and bandstand and
Sand and waving at the children
Splashing in the incoming tide.
Trying not to hide the fact that the
Sea is always brass monkeys.
Never mind it's an August afternoon
In an august seaside town.
Dressed up to the nines,
Time to impress the tourists and
Blooming brilliant for Britain in Bloom.
Floral displays in hanging baskets and
Seafront beds for all welcome, thronging
Passed arcades and souvenir shops, stopped
For a stick of rock, and no one buys postcards
Anymore, any more for the bus tour,
The harbour boat tour, and the tourists flock
In sandals and socks and shorts and
Vest tops and kagools and rain coats.
Fleeced out of hard earned cash,
40p for a pee, 40p for a slash?
Public inconvenience!
As the gulls fly high, eye spy a distracted
Chap, flap flap, attack and pinch a
Bag of chips and scatter the tourists
Who take flight, pursued by the rabid
Gulls, a Hitchcockian flock that
Caw and cackle and squawk and mock -
There'll be more victims the 'morrow.
And the children wail, Ah!
The sorrows of cold water and rough towels,
Howls of indignation, the desperation of small
Faces that wish to remain by the sea,
Where memories are made
Come sunshine, come wind and come rain.
And ey, we know we'll all be back.
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