I Can Remember When All This Was Coalfields
What larks they got up to down the pits!
Friends and relatives having adventures underground
and then supping a few pints to relive the day’s glories.
Whole villages formed like rich seams
dedicated to the sheer fun of it all.
They’d be aghast at the jobs now.
Chained to a call centre desk,
battery farmed for utilities and finance,
grafting at the end of a phone
with a whole hour between fag breaks.
And there’s no exemption for the lasses.
In years gone by they’d sit at home
thrilling to needlecraft and bairns,
fairy-tale princesses in terraced castles.
Now the womenfolk have no time for any of that.
Dark times in the North,
where Health & Safety stalks in High Vis
and your call is very important to us.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Ben Banyard would be
pleased to hear them.