ONE STREET IN DINGLE

A long time ago you served us well.
From needle to anchor you used to sell.
In a variety of shops, with the best of attention.
I can't name them all, but many I'll mention.
You had places of worship - places to drink.
A factory close by where they bottled ink.
Familiar the trade mark, a gracious white swan.
Two trams en-route, 45 and 21.
The facilities you offered were beyond compare.
The only street in the city to boast its own fair.
On the high flyer, terrific the thrill.
The dusty flour men who worked in the mill.
The Domestic Mission, Park Palace, the Florrie*.
The cow butter stores, on the corner of Warry*.
Wringers repaired with new roller and cog.
An animal clinic for sick cat and dog.
Feeling off-colour with a pain in your tummy.
Then Kennedy's chemist on the corner of Northummy*.
Was always well stocked with medicinal goods
Bad teeth were extracted by Mr Woods.
Woolfenden's and Denny's, they accepted pledges.
Oven-fresh bread from Johnson's or Blackledges.
Irwin's - The Maypole - in competition with Gates.
Spare ribs and cabbage from Postlethwaites.
Clarkson's for bedding, new boots from Lee's.
Or the running shutters - flower seeds from Bee's.
John Cook the pork butcher with delicious spice ball.
A tanner the Hop, in Jack Quines dance hall.
The Hollow, the Big Step, close to Forge crack.
The Rat House, The Crows Nest, to knock a pint back.
The Flat Iron, The Brass Bars, The Weathercock.
Clement Troops for a second hand frock.
Bleach, soap, and soda to assist with the chores.
Gas mantles, Paraffin, candles, from Law's.
Bob's for a shampoo, a trim and a shingle.
All the facilities in one street in Dingle.
A Street full of memories, they linger still sweet.
Progress has changed the face of Mill Street.

(anon)

*Florrie - Florence Institute
Warry - Warwick Street
Northummy - Northumberland Street

MERSEY SPIRIT

Liverpool, a port with the Liver building standing proud,
Does the spectre of gloom always overhang your glory with its shroud?
Once filled with majestic ships sailing full of grace,
Now mainly tankers and carriers for a container base.
Its echoing reverberations around the world can still be heard,
From the home of the well known Liver-Bird.
A pub on nearly every corner where all did meet,
Life bubbling inside and outside upon the street.
Some downing their favourite and nourishing bowl of scouse,
Then off to the local picture house.
Now sadly not many an usherette for your ticket calls,
Many closed and some reopened as the infamous Bingo halls.
The local flea-pit closing was a sorry sight,
No Batman to return and save their plight.
Whole families moving, sadly drifting apart,
Breaking into, tearing a city's heart.
Still the town withholds its dignity, its strength and mirth,
A Phoenix from the ashes, a new rebirth.
Always regeneration, a new life,
Growing, ignoring hardship and strife.
A place where people suffer, laugh and inwardly cry,
Yet with a spirit you can stifle it will not die.
New Brighton once a proud part of our coast,
Has it now given up its ghost?
A jewel lost surely it cannot be,
For our voices can be heard upon the land, in the air and upon the sea.
Life can deal the inhabitants a bitter blow,
Yet on face value you would never know.
Why? What is the reason they soldier on?
Because within them the glimmer of hope has always shone.
It is not just a case of eat, drink and be merry
A body you can but the soul you won't bury.
We don't ask any to cry or mourn for our sake,
Liverpool is not yet ready for its wake,
Weep not for our city it will never be gone,
For our sons and daughters will always live on.

P.T.P. McLoughlin