The Ballad of the Pier and Louise

There’s a famous seaside place called Skeggi,
That’s noted for fish, chips and peas
And Mr and Mrs Lockwheaton,
Went there with their daughter, Louise.

Louise was a right little madam
With her ringlets and ribbons of silk
She’d a pink little nose like a piglet
And a voice which could curdle the milk

Lou didn’t think much to beachfront
“You can’t see no waves for the mist.              
 That fisherman doesn’t look jolly
Quite frankly he looks round the twist.”    

Still the prom was quite crowded with trippers
In their “kiss me quick” hats, what a laugh.
No doubt on a ‘jolly’ from Leicester
For their chance, once a year, of a bath.

The stroll ‘long the front proved quite bracing
Then Pop said he fancied a beer
So mother suggested the cafe
That stood on the end of the pier.

Now Lou, knew the pier was a long ‘un
So whilst pa was fetching the tea
Lou suggested a stroll to the pier head
To wave at them Dutch ‘cross North Sea.
   
But Ma claimed her seat, near the window
To get a fine view of the place
Then a young lad arrived with his parents
And a scowl on one side of his face.

The boy was young Albert Ramsbottom
His parents were with him as well.
Lou turned her back on ‘em and mumbled
About the peculiar smell.

They ordered pork pie and some pickles
And plum loaf washed down with some tea
Some brawn and stuffed chine with a slice of brown bread
They wasn’t that hungry you see.




“This Skeggie’s a bit of a dump,” said the lad.
They ain’t got no tower, nor zoo
Them donkeys, they’ve all got arthritis
And t’sea here’s the colour of poo!

“I just can’t believe what I’m hearing.”
Said Pa in a voice loud and clear
“And where, might I ask, do yer came from
For there ain’t no place better than ‘ere?”

“We’re here on a day trip from Blackpool
“It’s finest resort on west coast.
We’ve one of them towers, like Frenchies
And winkles and pilchards on toast.”

“So what?” said Louise, “We’ve a pier ‘ere,
That’s longer than any you’ve seen.”
“You’re kidding.” The young lad retorted
“Look yonder and see what I mean.”

So all of them gazed through the window
The pier-head was stuck out at sea
But a great chunk o’ pier was just missing
Pa pondered, “Now, where can it be?

Louise, she had heard about piers now.
That they should be fixed to the ground.
“Some vandal’s been here and they’ve nicked it.
So come on, it’s got to be found.”

Now the coastguard looked older that Moses
he’d no idea where it had gone
Lou thought they should call out the lifeboat
So that was decided upon.

God bless the brave crew of the lifeboat
All risking their lives on the sea
But with no wrecks and nobody drownded
Most were home, having their tea.

And as for the crew at the boathouse
Some were already in bed.
So Lou and her parents decided
They’d take out the life-boat instead .

“I think that the pier has been stolen
So our mission is perfectly clear
We need to find out where it’s got to
Cos It’s clear that our pier is not here.”


Young Albert persuaded his parents
That they should assist in this quest
“All we need is a large picnic hamper.    
And an orange inflatable vest.”

Their search went from Cromer to Yarmouth
Past Walton-on-Naze and Southend
Albert said, “P’raps they have disguised it.”
But Lou said, “You’re quite round the bend.”      

For three days and nights they kept sailing
Past Kent and the Isle of Wight
They turned a sharp left after Cornwall
But Skeg’ pier was nowhere in sight.

Then Albert’s Pa shouted, “There’s Blackpool
I know it because of yon tower.
So you’d better slow down in the ‘arbour
Cos we’ll crash if you don’t reduce power.”

It was Albert who spotted the headline
On a billboard, it read, “I confess.
Ship’s captain pleads intoxication.
I was driven to drink in Skegness.”

 Albert then found a newspaper
“‘Twas a ship, the Europa, I fear.
It says that the captain weren’t looking
And drove his boat straight into pier.”

“We wouldn’t want your pier in Blackpool.
We’ve three of ‘em here, as it is.”
He’d a Polaroid snap just to prove it.
Which put Louise in a right tiz.

Lou’s dander was up when she realised
“Three piers in one town, that’s not fair.”
Then a thought crossed her mind, “We should take one
For nowhere needs more than a pair.”

Steel ropes wrapped around with silk ribbons
She tied to the legs of the pier
And t’other end fixed to the lifeboat
The throttle Lou put in first gear.

Slowly the strain it was taken
And soon the pier, broke away free.
Full-steam ahead, they went northwards.
They hadn’t no compass you see.


So somewhere out there on the oceans
Where a pier and those Skeggi folk roam
Should you spot a flotilla approaching Manila
Just tell them it’s time to go home.

The Fifties - a commercial break    

Remember, remember the fifties, the festival?
Science, art, industry all put on show.
Beacons of change arrayed on the south bank,
Pavilioned in splendour, and British you know.

The modernist skylon, and dome of discovery
Welcomed the masses to Festival Hall.                    
Iconic images plastered on posters,
Brands from an age we just love to recall

Our new baby Belling, in shining enamel,
The iron’s a sunbeam, that kettle’s a swan.
A goblin teas-made should wake us up early,
That slumberland mattress might let us snooze on.

The sofa and chairs are from Gimson and Slater
The sideboard is G-plan, now that isn’t cheap
The Axminster’s grufty but who needs a hoover
I’m trusting our Ewbank will make a clean sweep

Picquot-ware teasets with sycamore handles
Toby’s from Doulton and tureens from Spode
Models of spitfires, in kit-form by Airfix.
A new Raleigh cycle to whiz down the road

Guinness is good for you, Craven ‘A’ wasn’t,
Mappin and Webb produced best Sheffield plate.      
Vases from Whitefriars, Ercol-made furniture,
Midwinter pott’ry designed by Miss Tait

Lean-leaded windows, inspired by Mackintosh?
Tana-lawn fabrics and Liberty prints
Willow by Morris on Sanderson wallpaper,
Bring in the Conran and throw out that chintz.

Only two years ‘til the Queen’s coronation
Our new Bush tele, the first in the street.
“Remove all those nets Stan, the neighbours are gathering.
Tell Nan to hurry or she’ll lose her seat.”

Somerset ciders and gorge-ripened cheeses
Ales from Burton and Kippers from Peel.              
Melton pork pies with Long Clawson Stilton
Pudding or Tart? What’s the real Bakewell deal?

Lyons Maid mivvis and McVitie penguins
Caramac, Spangles and Quality Street.                                          
Fry’s Chocolate Cream, they’ve all came off ration
And few can resist such a sugary treat



Some drinks for the kiddies? We’ve Vimto or Tizer.
A small ‘gin and it’ should satisfy Nan
The Bristol cream’s empty. Mum’s found the Babycham
Get out the Mackeson for the old man.

Now feeling off colour? Well, try Pepto Bismol.
There’s no Andrew’s Liver Salts left in the tin.                      
For Nan’s jippy tummy we’ve milk of magnesia.
She should stick to tonic and leave off the gin.

Home Service fav’rites each day on the wireless,
John Snagge, Nan Winton and Cliff Michelmore
Dimbleby, Alvar Liddell and Fyfe Robertson,
William Hardcastle and Corbet Woodall.

On the light program Dick Barton, Paul Temple,
Hancock’s Half Hour, Appointment with Fear.
Mum likes the series that’s all about country folk,
It’s called The Archers, but won’t last, my dear.

The kiddies watch Crackerjack! Ivor the Engine,
Sooty, Blue Peter, Noggin the nog,
Muffin the mule, Rag, Tag and Bobtail,
The star of the Woodentops; old Spotty dog.

We listen to skiffle on records from Decca.
Dear Ivor Novello and Jolson are dead.
So stick Nan’s old gramophone up in the attic
We’ve got a new Dansette with speakers instead.

Mother knows best with all products domestic.
Tide, Daz or Omo when clothes need a wash
Bricks of carbolic like Lifebuoy and Sunlight
Imperial Leather, to make us smell posh.

Your favourite comic, the Dandy or Beano?
Beezer or Topper? The Eagle was mine
Fans of the Bunty, remember Four Mary’s?
And that headmistress who kept them in line.

Ladybird books, we’ve plenty to choose from
Tootles the Taxi and Lost at the Fair
The Gingerbread Boy, What to look for in winter,
Piggly Plays Truant, The Tortoise and Hare.

‘O’ gauge by Bassett-Lowke, Triang and Hornby
Clockwork’s outdated now ‘lectrics the thing
Boys with Meccano, tin-plated creations
Off’ring a glimpse what the future may bring

Every girl dreams of a new pram by Silver Cross
Fine Witney blankets in salmon or peach
A doll’s house in plywood, some boxes of Bayko
A seersucker costume to wear on the beach

Palettes of paints straight from Windsor and Newton
Crayons by Lakeland and gummed paper squares
Boxes of plasticine, Painting by Numbers,                            
 ‘Don’t stretch that Slinky or fall down them stairs.’

Paintings by Piper, some sketches of Shropshire
Shell-guided journeys their latest book shows
JB has captured each village and hamlet
Pen portraits of people and places he knows.

Only last week I caught up with Betjeman
Took out the Morgan to meet him in Wells.      
Cheese and herb scones at the Tudor-house cafe
List’ning to extracts from ‘Summoned by Bells’

“We’ll try the Earl Grey dear, with some of that Parkin,
The third programme hopes for an excerpt next week.
But the section on Marlborough is barely half-finished
The chapter on Highgate? That still needs a tweak.

The poet once said that, “childhood is measured...
By sounds, smells and sights” from times long ago
Gathered, preserved in the vast vaults of memory
Before the “dark hour of reason can grow.”

So gone are the fifties, that childhood of innocence
The Hand-knitted swimsuit, the Cotton-string vest
We’ll see them no more but can treasure the memories,
Knowing those times were prob’ly the best.

Mark Temple.