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Gornal
by
Jack Stevens
Life as we knew it years ago
Is different to today.
Sedate ways have disappeared,
No time to wend our way.
We rush and scurry everywhere
We mustn't ever wait,
You simply cannot stop and stare
It's getting very late!
We desecrate our countryside
By many thoughtless deeds,
Destroying Nature far and wide
Neglectful of its needs.
Where are the hedges and the rush?
The Dingle and the Dell,
The habitat of lark and thrush,
And others we knew well.
The lovely Spinney with its trees,
The ever rambling stream,
The bluebells dancing in the breeze
Have vanished as a dream.
The summer evening leisure walk
Dressed in our Sunday Best.
The gossip in the friendly talk
Which spread to all the rest.
No competition from T.V.
Few cars pollute the night.
The air was always fit to breathe
No muggers of the night.
Around the lamp post lit by gas
The young would laugh and play
Kick the Can with verve and dash,
Hop Scotch and Roundelay.
Strap Daniel, marbles, skipping rope,
Whipping top and bowl.
Mother waiting with the soap
Despite the sulken scowl.
The Meadow with its Market Day,
And kerosene-lit stalls.
Pat Collins with his Roundabouts,
The women and their shawls.
The outings of the byegone days
From Gornal Halt by train,
Remembered thru' a distant haze
Will ne'er come back again.
What happened to Ted Turner's Wall?
The Demon Barber's Shed?
Where was Old Sammy Saney's Slope?
Is Cogger really Dead?
Who shot the hole in Zoar's Clock?
And where did Shady live?
Sally Bottle's in her frock
And entertaining jig.
This village of our yesteryear
Has trebled in its size,
The character we held so dear
Approaching its demise.
So we can only reminisce
Of happy days of yore,
Regretting what our children miss,
And in our hearts deplore.
Proposals of arterial ways
With juggernauts pell-mell!
Our answer to the planners - say
You go to Bl--dy Hell!
Let conservation be our theme,
Restict the concrete jungle,
Which often turns out as a scheme
A bureaucratic bungle.
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