This is my Hull

Larkin’ About (with Toads)

I'm out and about

In the centre of Hull

Doing nowt, just Larkin’ about

When I met this toad

And his mates who were on the pull,

There, sitting in my abode!

Are you squatting on my life

And what’s your score?

It’s a plague and it’s rife.

The toads are Larkin about

It’s the “Dead Poets’ Society

And they've found the door;

Now together we’re doing nowt

Enjoying the notoriety!

‘Ullness’

They say, ‘th’s nowt as queer as folk!’

And it’s true if when you cum to ‘ull,

Our accent is unique and bespoke!

Life’s neer boring or dull!

What is about our ‘Ullness?’

Cum and find our fullness!

Is it something in the Humber water

That causes the genes to mutate

Or is our lot, just a strange quarter?

Your visit we eagerly await

That you can taste our ‘Ullness’

And enjoy the cultural fullness!

They says, ‘Ull’s too far and out on a limb’

And somewhere we've neer bin,

But I tell you, ‘Life is neer that grim!’

How can you say if th’s neer sin?

Cum and experience our ‘Ullness’

Your life will find a new fullness!

Echoes of the Humber

By the banks of the Humber

In the land of the Green Ginger

I saw the red, red robin

Go bob, bobbing along,

But he wasn't an early bird

Singing in any kind of weather.

There is the KC but the sunshine band

Like the House Martins have flown

Far beyond the Beautiful South!

The Rats and the Spiders from Mars

Have deserted the pied piper,

The Fine Young Cannibals

Have eaten Every Thing but the Girl,

But the echoes of the Humber

Still reverberate in this soul of mine!

Beggar’s Opera (Hull Night Life)

The bells of Holy Trinity

Are ringing out with unrest,

And from King Billy

To the land of the Green Ginger

People are walking;

People are talking

But too many Quasimodo’s

Are looking in their mirrors

Thinking all their Esmeralda’s

Will dance the night away,

And love is a many splendour thing.

The oracles of the heralds

Are ringing out with anger

And from the Hull Truck

To the boards of the New Theatre

People are fighting;

People are writing

But too many Shakespeare’s

Are penning their sonnets

Thinking all their Juliet’s

Will appear on the veranda

And love is a many splendour thing.

2017 City of Culture

Character and charm with an

Identity second to none

That’s what they’re saying about

You and I

Opportunities for

Friendships and families alike

Common people and yet

Unique in every way

Listening to the sounds of the Humber

Tigers, Robins and Early Birds

Ullness, nothing like it

Riches that money can’t buy

Everyone is welcome in Hull!

Tribute to JHG

It started with a kiss but it only produced

Blood, sweat and tears, he only had

One gym and tonic, was he on the piste?

 Was the crown prince Really Julius Caesar

Though going Dutch was the next best thing

To being dressed in a black tie and tales.

It was supposed to be April in Paris

But it ended up a weekend break in our house

There was Oliver Twist and Moby Dick,

Passion killers from the office party,

Wrestling mad shakers with the weed,

Unleashed like lucky sods at a reunion.

I was singing a funny tune, hooray for Hollywood

But there was big trouble in a little bedroom,

Fly me to the moon was my departure

As Dracula was hoping for seasons in the sun

But it was the teechers with the perfect pitch

But I was the salt of the earth, up ‘n’ under.

Who’d be a Whaler?

I've sat by the banks of the Humber

Watching the tide ebb and flow

And dreamt in my slumber-

Where did the whalers go?

Far beyond the North Sea

And northward to the Atlantic swell,

Not a place for you or me,

Not a place to dwell;

But they didn't stop there

Into Arctic waters they sailed,

Did they have a care

As they whaled?

Who’d be a whaler? Who’d be a sailor?

That’s what my ‘Truelove’ asked of me

‘Diana, don’t wait up for me!’

Who’d be a whaler? Who’d be a sailor?

But it’ll be many day till I return

Our livelihood is my concern!

I’ve stood on the banks of the Humber

Feeling the cold biting wind

That woke me from my slumber-

Jack Frost truly grinned

And entertained the whalers,

As they entered the Arctic waters

Amid ice packs, O frozen sailors

Where are your wives, sons and daughters?

Do they really know the perils you face?

Davy Jones you also know well,

Some of you disappeared without trace

Amidst that Godless frozen Arctic swell!

The Land of Green Ginger (HU1 2EB)

I was walking down Old Beverley Street

I stopped to have a tipple or two in the George

And looked through the littlest window

That is to be found in England’s fair land,

There I discovered Robinson Crusoe setting sail,

Was to the Land of Green Ginger?

It was not the Bethia (Bounty) he set sail on

With the bonny Captain Blight and crew,

Oh no! Splice the mainbrace is what I say

And drink to those who walk these streets

Adorning the City of Hull with uniqueness,

Revelling in the Land of Green Ginger!

For the moment let the time pass by gently

And muse at world rushing by you, pause;

There are stranger places we could speak of

But the there is none like the Green Ginger,

And whatever it beholds to you, just remember

It is spicy, and it is Hull through and through!

Hull Fair

The October fog rolls in over the Humber

Along with the Romany folk of the fair

And it’s a city week without slumber,

A time for the gaudy dazzle and flare!

I ask, ‘does anyone really, really care

When they experience all the fun of the fair?’

Walton Street is awash with the milling crowd

And the aroma of Bob Carver’s fills the air,

The screams and yells of the night are loud,

The thrills and spills, all ages do share.

I ask, ‘candy flossers and brandy snappers,

Are you happy with your city dappers?’

Dodgems and waltzers constantly spin,

Fortune tellers reading unsuspecting palms;

Hook a duck and a goldfish you’ll win.

What is the mystery, the magical charm?

That is for you and me to contemplate

As we pencil in the pending date!

The sights and sounds soon fade away

But the memories remain much longer,

And we know we enjoyed that Fair day;

Do the traditions ever grow stronger?

That is for you my friend to answer,

My autumn flower, my Hull Fair romancer!

AJ and Jason

If you look up to the skies of blue

And see a gypsy moth in flight,

It’s only Jason and A.J. you’ll view

Flying into the evening twilight;

Flying east and south to Australia,

A Hull lass in a pilot’s regalia!

Across land and sea, never the like

Did our heroine venture so far!

Jason, she was an adventurous tyke

And she led you by the Southern star;

Where are you now I muse and ponder?

Somewhere above in the blue yonder!

Fly on A.J.; fly on O lady of the sky,

And let your pioneering spirit soar,

May your memory remain on high!

Fly on A.J., fly on and explore,

And we down below will look above

And cherish the Hull lass we love!

Republican Memories (abridge version)

It was the spring of 42

When Charlie and his cronies

Came up to old York town,

He wasn't interested in

The Ebor handicap; Oh no!

 He sought the beloved Arsenal

And the city of Hull!

So my republican friends

Let us meet in the plotting room

In ‘Ye Olde White Harte’

And raise a glass to Sir John

And those who stood with him;

Let us defy those who oppose us

And live as ‘All men are equal’

It was on the 23^rd April

On a wet Saturday morning

When Charlie came to Hull.’

There at the Beverley Bar

Sir John denied his access

And started a chain of events

That gave way to the Civil War.

So my republican friends

Let us raise the rebel cry

To the divine right of kings

And from all southern softies,

Good Lord! Deliver us!

Come my republican friends,

Let us raise a glass of cheer!

A Divided City

It’s more than a river that separates the two halves

And never the twain shall meet or dwell together.

Red and White or Black and White scarves,

The Robins or Early Birds, you’ll never tether.

Holderness Road and Hessle Road,

Divided loyalties of the East and West

Its Hull Rugby League unwritten code,

What colour is your twitter crest?

It’s something that you inherit from your history

And that constantly flows through the veins,

To FC or Rovers you belong, that’s the mystery;

Boulevard or Craven Park reigns.

Bragging rights is the order of the day

And songs of victory to silence the other;

Which fans will have the final say

When they speak of their lover?

A Bridge Too Far

A bridge too late, a bridge too far,

A bridge too dear, a bridge of sighs;

But who hears your enigmatic cries

And who travels across you by car?

Alas! Still both sides of the Humber

In back waters forever slumber.

On the northern bank, eastern tykes

And on the southern bank, yellow bellies

But never the twain could meet;

The river with its currents and likes

Weighed constantly on one’s nellies,

Neither side could be complete!

A bridge too big, a bridge too grand,

A bridge too costly, a bridge of tears:

A burdensome debt for many years

That spans a gulf to the nether-land.

Alas! Still both sides of the Humber

In stagnant waters forever slumber.

MV Gaul H243 (Tribute)

Deep calls unto deep

In the depths of the Barents Sea,

And the memories of the 36

Like the tidal waters

Ever flow back to the Humber.

Fathers, sons and lovers

Have paid the ultimate price,

Yet we who are left

Bear the greater cost

Of remembering those love ones.

Trawl away you fishermen,

Haul away your nets,

Let them down into the depths;

For our thoughts

Are filled with your memories!

Tribute to Wm. Wilberforce

A giant amongst men and without equal

Who dared to challenge an unjust society!

A Hull lad whose Christian conviction

Led him to seek freedom for the slave!

Let us too walk in his godly footsteps

And treat all men with the same respect,

For this is an eternal and divine creed

That all men are created equal!

So when you walk the streets of Hull,

And wander down High Street

Remember this city’s famous son

And the legacy he gave to all men!

Travel anywhere in this world

And ask any emancipated slave

That he owes his freedom to

That Hull born son, Wm. Wilberforce!

Bob Carver’s (9 Trinity Wharf, HU1 2JA)

Where would Hull be without Bob Carver’s?

They've been around in the city for 125 plus years

And they’ll still frying when I'm battered and gone,

Will I taste as good to the worms and their mates

When they come to dine at my funeral feast

As to those pattie, peas and chips I've tasted.

Would Hull Fair be same if Bob wasn't there

With his stall selling those culinary delights.

It goes without saying the aromas wafting

In those October nights are so seductive.

Taste buds aroused and lips a licking

And don’t forget those scraps as well!

Purrfect!

As a lad I was taken to Craven Park

But I never got into that rugby lark

And those red, red robins

That go bob, bob, bobbing along

Was never going to be my song!

The Boulevard was just the same

Rugby league is not my game,

The weather was never right

Though the clover was white

But Old Faithful was not my delight!

Boothferry Park was the place

That set my heart ablaze

With the beautiful game:

It was the Tiger’s name

That roared with fame!

The Deep

We’ll meet at Sammy’s point on the Humber,

By the River Hull tidal surge barrier;

We’ll explore the depths of the deep

And view those creatures of the ocean.

We know many went to the sea in ships,

Doing their business on the great waters;

They saw the wondrous deeds of the Lord,

At his commanded the stormy wind arose.

The waves of the sea mounted up to heaven.

And then crashed down to the depths;

Those sailors and fishermen cried to the Lord

As the perils of the deep were unleashed.

From their trouble he delivered them,

From their distress he stilled the storm,

And the waves of the sea were hushed;

And he brought them to their desired haven.

Remember the cost of such men in their boats

Who sailed the seven seas far from these shores,

Remember as you look at the marine life

That they too saw them first and marvelled.

Tribute to Beatrice Bellman

It wasn't our Beatie that phoned home, was it?

Like ET she didn't use KC, rather BT!

But it’s good to talk to Mother Szpilman

And don’t forget Aunt Eller as well

She was a smashing bird I used to know!

Do you remember Countess Esmeralda?

Well that was a right carry on I must say,

But who was the lady in the bed?

Some say it was Mrs Samsa parading

As metamorphosis of Margaret Thatcher!

The characters you meet in Coronation Street

Such as Lilian Spencer, what happened to her?

Then what about Sheila Haddon all at No.20

As well as Brenda having the knowledge!

Could Enid Blyton write such stories?

What will we say of Beatrice Bellman?

That she’s everyone’s grandma,

Always there with a smile and a tale to tell,

It wouldn't be the same if we didn't have someone,

Someone like Beatie on the end of the phone!

Offside (tribute to Ebenezer Cobb Morley)

With the passing years

Memory Lane seems a lot longer,

And in that distant past

A forgotten legend’s story is not told!

O city of culture to be

Why did you forget this Hull lad?

Did he give the world a gift?

That what we call the beautiful game!

Ebenezer Cobb Morley,

His name should stand tall and proud

Outside the KC Stadium

For his roots began in his native city!

Who is this gentleman?

He gave us football’s rules,

He was the first FA Secretary

And it’s second President!

Here’s to Oliver Harsley

For raising such a fitting challenge

To all genuine football fans alike;

That we in Hull should remember ECM!

Silver Cod Days

Gone are the days of the BTF and the silver cod,

Gone is the Arctic Warrior, the Falstaff,

And the Somerset Maugham and all the rest;

No more three day millionaires!

The ghost of St Andrew now walks a lonely path

Along Hessle Road looking for the dock;

Those memories like the tide, is still on the ebb.

Halcyon days! Of their like we’ll never see again,

EU membership and Icelandic cod wars;

Oh you trawler boys you were too successful

And we’ve all paid a princely sum for our cod.

Your livelihood like the shoals have dwindled

And now our fish and chips are luxury item.

The silver cod where now do you swim?

O where are the skippers and their crews,

Your Poseidon adventures are now long past;

Arctic Warrior, Kirkella, Lancella, Lord Beatty,

Falstaff, Prince Charles, Northella,

Stella Leonis, Somerset Maugham, Primella.

Gone are the Silver Cod-heads and the glory

Consigned to Hull’s fishing heritage!

Dead Man’s Penny (1914-18)

To the great conflict they went willing,

A matter of duty and honour to king and country

Never knowing the carnage, the killing!

Four Pals Battalions, Hull gladly gave,

The best of their youth and in their prime

But many would find an early grave!

How much did their mothers and wives weep

And the children miss their father’s embrace,

Scars and mortal wounds, forever deep!

What a wage – a dead man’s penny,

Is this the ultimate price for freedom and honour?

Let our thanksgiving be for the many!

Where are those memorials today?

Sadly missing like our fallen heroes,

Do you hear their whispers say......

‘We did not die for your vanity

But gave up our tomorrows in this horror,

All for the good of all humanity’!

These are some of my poetry about Hull, its history, culture and heritage, its people etc.