Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Bad Times

Newspaper article Evening Chronicle (Newcastle, England)

Bad Times

Article excerpt

What troubled times we live in

The world is steeped in sin

Don't go for supper alone to the shop

On the way home you could get the chop

Don't open the door if you value your life

Someone could be waiting there with a knife

Don't walk on your own through the park

Not even in daylight but never in dark

There are those lurking to do you some harm

These are troubled times we live in, sound the alarm

Don't drive under bridges, you could get a brick

Right through your windscreen, isn't it sick?

Don't go out to have fun unless you watch your drink

You could become the victim of some lowly fink

Don't trust your money to just anyone

Check up, get advice, or it could be long gone

If you're a thug and you've done a crime

Pretend you're a good guy, you'll get off with time

Please everyone stand up and think

Isn't it time we got rid of the stink?

Let's change the law from being an ass

It's time we did something, not let it pass.

ALTHEA WILKINSON, Newcastle.

In Gateshead there's a monument to an artist of great fame

This artist work in metal, Gormley is his name

He's the patron saint of scrapmen, or so I've heard it said

And he's left to them a legacy to be claimed when he's long dead.

The scrapmen come from near and far, this monument to see.

Some of them make a day of it and bring their family.

They gaze up at this monument in silence and in awe,

But inwardly they're saying "I hope he builds some more."

So if those prayers are answered and the scrapmen's wish comes true

Gateshead will be known worldwide as the town where giants grew.

Tourists will come in thousands, we'll join in the tourist super league,

And to our prayers each night we'll add,

Keep us free from metal fatigue

So raise your glass you scrapmen when you're standing at the bar

To him who made it possible, this Scrapmen's Shangri-La.

NAME AND ADDRESS SUPPLIED.

One man alone in a country lane

Pausing as memories come back again.

Gazing at the sky and sighing -

Remembering those wartime days of flying.

Across the fields of corn a ruined tower stands,

The ghostly sound of engines as his squadron lands. …

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