We were tribal

We were tribal

Sunday coaches

Old charabancs

And Routemasters

Convoyed to the sea

Where we circled up

In beach tents

Weighted with sand

Braced against

A Northerly

Early pioneers

Of bulldog spirit

Having fun

At all costs

Beach cricket

In the rain

Football on a good day

Swimming in a tornado

Northern stoicism

In full frontal

Woollen bathers

And olive oil

For sunscreen

Sharing food

Fish Paste sandwiches

Meat and potato

Pies

Too much sun

Windblown

Burned babies

Candy floss

Toffee apples

Travel sick

Tantrums

At hometime

A busload of singers

Orchestrating

A chorus of approval

As amazing Grace

Went to mow

For the price of

Ten green bottles

All the way home

As the wheels

Went round

And around

For one Sunday a week

Right through August

Colliery village life

Almost did

Become

A wholesome slice

Of heaven.