Friday, 21 June 2013

Filey Summers - A Memoir in verse.

I guess, as a self-proclaimed author and poet, I should publish something now and then, while I'm waiting for fickle fame and fortune to strike!  But,  being honest, I wasn't sure whether to post this little poem about one of the great experiences of my childhood, on this blog, or on my Barney Blog, although this is far from a rant, and much more of a reminiscence!
Filey Summers
How do I spend my daydreams?
Wandering the paths
Of Butlin’s Filey Holiday Camp,
Reliving childhood’s past.
Old Sir Billy’s pride and joy,
The biggest Butlin’s ever,
Bringing summer fun to all
Despite the English weather!
The night before was sleepless,
Like a Christmas in July,
Our tummies full of butterflies
As hours dragged slowly by.
And then the rail or coach trip
With so little else to do
But sit in angst and wonder ‘til
The camp came into view!

The rows on rows of chalets;
Red and Yellow, Blue and Green,
And White for the self-catering,
The likes we’d never seen!
And over them, the chairlift,
Where we rode high in the sky,
Laughing down at the tiny folk
Below as we pass’d by.
The Indoor Pool was busy
And was always very warm;
A tropical oasis where
We were all safe from harm.
The clear and frigid water
Of the giant Outdoor Pool
Had tiered concrete fountains where
My brother sprayed the fools.

Two sittings in the dining halls
Of Windsor, York and Kent,
And seconds could be had without
More money being spent!
The first freshly cooked donut
That I had ever had,
Still hot, and sugar-coated,
Was a taste that drove you mad!
The Wild Mouse Rollercoaster
And the free Amusement Park
Kept the children entertained
From morning until dark
And then the glow of the neon lights
Would drive the dark away
And make the camp a fairyland
Of fun and endless play.
Shows in the Gaiety Theatre
Or billiards in the hall,
Or dancing in the discotheque,
While parents had a ball.
The Regency, the Viennese,
The French and Oasis bars,
The Sportsman and the Beachcomber
Where dad's could have some jars.

With playing fields and a cinema,
TV rooms and a lake,
With street trains and with endless games
He gave our folks a break
From looking after active kids
All day long, and, at night,
The chalet patrol kept careful watch
To make sure we slept tight!
So much to do – day in, day out,
No matter what your age;
It’s easy to see why Filey camp
Was all the Butlin rage!

“We know where you’re going! You’re going for a wee wee!”

Copyright (c) Paul J Todd, 2013.
All rights reserved.

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