Poets Corner

Cullercoats Bay

In many strange lands o'er the ocean I've been,
And countless the beautiful sights I have seen,
But I'm a Tynesider, and proudly must say,
I've seen nothing finer than Cullercoats Bay.

The men go fishing, I've met by the score,
They spin the same yarns both abroad and ashore:
But give me the language that's spoken my way,
Sweet music to exiles from Cullercoats Bay.

I love the small houses where fisher-folk bide,
So neat, and so tidy, if you peep inside:
Fresh lobsters, and crabs at the doors they display,
And sell, Canny Hinny, at Cullercoats Bay.

How well I remember those mates that I knew,
We talked on the Bank Top as sailormen do:
But when seas were raging, all ready were they,
To man the old lifeboat, at Cullercoats Bay.

And when I grow old, and go sailing no more,
I'll make for the harbour I fondly adore:
And there, in life's gloaming, with each passing day,
I'll thank the Almighty for Cullercoats Bay.
(Written by Jack Robson ('Wherever ye gang you're sure to find a Geordie' fame). He was the Headmaster at Backworth then Shiremoor school)

Ganin ti St. James Be Metro...Pilgrims All

We pulled on aal wor CULLERCOATS but by gyell we fund them hot
Plodged alang the TYNEMOUTH, and cooled worsells doon a lot
Them NORTH SHIELDS wuh big & strong but wu showed em loads o pluck
Hoyed some coins inta the MEADOWELL just to seal wor luck
The PERCY MAIN was gorroning but wu knaad wu'd passed the test
HOWDEN wu shoot but neebody hord so wu headed for the west
Is this where HADRIAN ROAD wu asked & what went on with his cuddy
Why man it fell off the WALLSEND rhiet inta a muddy puddle
The chep that telt wus this sat on the WALKER GATE
So wu tossed him bits of CHILLINGHAM to put on his plate
Then wu sah this canny BYKER cove dasin doon to chorch
Hes he got nee MANORS like, ganna leave wus in the lorch
Wuy no sayed the Inspector chep wu'raal just aboot there
Av hord there's niffy-naffs, stottie kyeks & pints of ale to spare
Ay grand, grand wu aal shoot, has it already went
Why aye man the chep sayed, its aal waiting at the MONUMENT
Howay noo bonny lasses, lads, play neemair silly games
There's thoosands all in Black & White waitin at ST. JAMES.

Joan Taylor Phillips
Simpson Street
Cullercoats NE30 4PY

Cullercoats Village
Twixt Tynemouth sands and Whitley Bay
Where the North East rollers come to play
I spent my youth to the full each day
Ere later pursuits called me away.

Cullercoats where the fishers of old
Outside their cottages sea's harvest sold;
Each memory now encrusted in gold
Tells of a time whose tale is now told.

The watch-tower still standing over the sand
And the tandem beacons proudly stand
Above that Victorian terrace so grand
Where boyhood dreams were carefully planned.

But my childhood home of memories dear
Where summer trippers from far and near
Meandered the cliff tops above the pier
Is not now the same, I sadly fear.

The sea-front cottages now are all gone
And the Summer visitors all have moved on;
No hustle and bustle lacking its throng,
The lilt of the village has lost its song.
Of my infant school there is no trace
And it's hard to determine the actual place
To where, with school bags, we'd daily race
To learn of a world too soon to embrace.

The cobbles bobbed there in the bay
Like basking whales enjoying play;
At anchor only a few now stay
The rest, like my dreams, have faded away.

The village lacks vigour, glamour and glim;
It has lost all its neatness, not now so trim
As it was, and that borders on ultimate sin
Yet to times long gone I shall fervently cling.

Thus time and memory grow far apart;
So quickly childhood dreams depart
Yet that village where those dreams did start
Shall remain for ever in my heart.

The villagers still are warm and kind,
All canny hinnies locked tight in my mind;
A thread from the past to tenaciously bind
To Cullercoats village, the late home of mine.

Ian Gray, Nottingham