Flushed with pride from the plaudits I received for my earlier work ‘We Are Seacroft!’ I thought I’d have a crack at another one. So this is a little something that I knocked up in my tea breaks this week. I quite enjoyed doing this so until someone tells me it’s crap I’m going to keep writing them.
It’s such a bloody awful shame
There aren’t more people like Elaine.
Pulling pints was what she did
When I was just a spotty kid
To quench my thirst and numb my brain.
I’m sure she must have known we’d been
Not much older than sixteen.
She’d let us in and sell us beer,
But deep inside we’d always fear
That proof of age had to be seen.
Her beady eye and Yorkshire charm
Meant there was always peace and calm.
A place so safe to go and drink
On Saturday night and not have to think
Of life outside the Cricketers’ Arms.
As long as we never did owt bad
Like cuss or fight to drive her mad
She’d let us sit and drink and smoke.
But we shut our gobs whenever she spoke
As if for the night she’d become our dad.
The kids today must find it hard
As from the pubs they’re always barred.
Instead for fun they find the need
To drink cheap cider and smoke their weed
In shop doorways or a cold graveyard.
Some rob and steal to buy cocaine.
But politicians just don’t have the brains
To see that youngsters’ mindless crime
Could be prevented half the time
If they’d only give us more Elaines.
Terry Mullan, September 2013
The Cricketers' Arms in Seacroft, Leeds in the good old days.
Note the absence of hoodlums, urchins and glue sniffers.