For anyone who may be interested there is an earlier companion piece, more political than social called simply ‘The Working Class”.
Another dawn
Another dawn breaks over these northern towns,
and folk awake all tangled up in bed sheet knots,
door step milk fetched in tartan dressing gowns,
as sunlight’s insipid fingers brush chimney pots
and the cobbles ring with cheery morning greets
from factory working Tykes in boots and flat cap,
stood on pristine steps of brick terraced streets,
in their hands flasks of sweet tea and tins of Snap.
Row on Row of red houses and stone flagged walks
where proud lasses clean their bright colour doors,
no dawdling allowed but endless street corner talks,
And wake week they’ll leave to picnic on the moors,
friends and family both the same, breathe virgin air,
clobbered out in their best away from factory smoke,
laughing and singing, beer and tall tales all can share,
“we may be poor but we’re happy” they always joke.
I like how this starts slow, a sleepy dawn, and then builds in energy with every line.
And those last two lines…true happiness.
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Thank you, slightly romanticised view of the industrial towns of Yorkshire but only a bit and of life a few decades ago, sadly the pride and nobility of those working folk, from whom I’m descended, has almost gone.
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A beautiful piece of you. I haven’t forgotten that you asked about writing something about where I live or would like to live. I think I’ll be able to come up with something soon.
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