END OF THE PIER |
After seeing
a sepia photograph of the much missed Plymouth Pier, I gave thought to
the passing of a seaside tradition... |
I remember
the days of those charabanc outings When we sang all the way down to the sea; We had buckets and spades and hampers and towels And the sixpence to spend Gran had given to me. I loved the sandcastles where goblins and trolls lived And all of the sounds from the shell to my ear; I loved the beach cricket where I scored a century - But better than best was the old seaside pier. |
|
No more
penny arcades or sand in the shell fish; Or striped sticks of rock and jugs of warm beer No more standing in line waiting for concerts In the battered old hall at the end of the pier. |