Crafted from cold grey
Stone in bleak winter time,
The sloping seaward side
Is warm and comforting
On summer evenings when
The on shore breeze
Blows a little cool and
The trippers go home,
To Stoke or Liverpool
And talk of a lovely day,
Not knowing the best
Is stored in the stone.

---

Was there ever a Railway Row?

Was there ever Railway Row,
Stone houses in a long low line
And men and horses down below
Toiling in the deep dark mine?

Were there banners and a band,
A football team and local pride,
Neighbours there to lend a hand,
Doors and hearts open wide?

Did the tankies, firebox glowing,
Pull laden wagons south, to keep
Factories working, profits growing
Warmth and light coming cheap?

Is that where the chapel stood
When good folk sang, "...not suffer loss"
While others hidden in the wood
Played secret games of pitch and toss?

What of summer Sunday strolls
Along the silver sanded shore
Now bleak November chills the bowels
And robots worked where cattle chawed?

Does the graveyard's weathered stone
Deceive the unintentional rhyme
BELOVED SON
ACCIDENT
THIRTY ONE
Beneath the Seraph clothed in grime.

Was it in the dreamtime
Ers amser (long ago)
Was there ever Railway Row?