Post Cod War Blues, November 1991 By Terry Ireland

St Andrews fish dock has been long closed down for there's barely a fleet to sail from the town the old lock gates where the trawlers queued to land for the markets are no longer used a metalled road runs over the lock and no water runs between river and dock buildings are tumbled or razed to the ground and its quiet and eerie with only the sounds of the water and wind and shrieks of the gulls this Sunday morning in the old docks of Hull it's forlorn and deserted and so cold and bleak I'll cuddle the fire for the rest of the week but I need to watch it as it finally goes I need to remember so my kids will know they've filled one dock in with mud and sand there's probably a subsidy for reclaiming land and thrown up warehouses and the usual shops to erase our past so one history stops there's a bowling alley to practice ten-pin and as much fast food as you can cram in this is the future and it's brash and it's bold this is the era of grab all you can hold. it's taken my city and torn out it's soul for there's no pride in claiming the dole they say this is progress and progress is all so bugger the memories of those on the Gaul and bugger the hardships and bugger the pain and bugger the families who'll never see again the pride and the swagger of the trawler wage earner or the newly wise eyes of the young deckie learner there's no more last beers and fast taxi rides to jump from the lock as she sails with the tide now it's heaven bless the poor and heaven bless the sick and heaven bless the slow and heaven bless the thick and heaven bless those with their backs to the wall whilst for the few winners it's bugger you all

Copyright Terry Ireland 2009

This poem can also be read on iPoetry, the poetry app for the iphone/ipod touch available on the Apple iTunes App Store.

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