Midsummer 2001

The Midsummer sun, reluctant to relinquish his role on this, his most important night of the year, sends up the longest, brightest rays he can muster, from his Western domain, as if to make his presence felt until the last possible minute.

And who can blame him, with the countryside looking its most beautiful. A mass of Midsummer flowers scent the air, with all the perfumes that blossoms and flowers can produce. They almost overpower the stink of charred flesh - burning corpses over the hill, or someone's late barbecue.

He is especially proud of the trees, the great and the small, all reaching gloriously upwards to the deepening midnight blue sky. Nature, with all her ingenuity, yet could have achieved none of this without the sun.

On this night, the Midsummer moon accepts her lesser role, and plays her part from the wings, as if unwilling to steal the thunder from the greater star. Even her half-light, pale though it is, cannot completely hide the fullness of the peonies, the delicacy of the honeysuckle, the whiteness of the lilac.

The semi-darkness masks all the hideousness that the world would forget, this summer of all summers.

The bleating of restless lambs, the hooting of the tawny owl, the high, lonely call of the curlew are the only sounds to disturb the quiet night. The guns are silent for a few short hours.

A softer, lighter blue is already filtering throughout the Eastern sky, casting a gentle green glow on the fields and the fells. The sun's first feelers reach out, reclaiming his power, and the thrush on the tallest pine tree stretches his slender throat and sings with all his might especially in his honour. Midsummer is over. Let the rest of summer begin.

Janet Crow, Cotherstone, Barnard Castle.

My Last Love

I was eighteen, nearly nineteen, When he came into my life.

And the war, it went a million miles away.

As we slowly danced the last waltz, he whispered: "Be my wife."

And my heart dictated what I had to say.

We were married in the spring and I proudly wore his ring

Our honeymoon was short. He couldn't stay.

Just two days and nights of bliss then he left me with a kiss

To the sound of pipes and drums, he marched away.

With his pals at Alamein, they say he didn't die in vain,

That battle was the one that turned the tide

But for my love and me, it was a hollow victory

For, on that day, our hopes and dreams all died.

A million tears I wept. His many letters I have kept

They were all I had to help me ease the pain.

And for 50 years or more, to all others I've said: "No."

For that lost love was my last love and I never loved again.

WI Cooksey, Newton Aycliffe.

Back To Harbour

The labours of the day are done,

Another yield safely won.

The fisherman taking smooth with rough,

Each day is hard, each day is tough.

Home with their harvest from the sea,

They're back to harbour, safely,

Can we forget the lifelong debt

We owe these men who daily cast their net?

There's ropes to splice and nets to mend,

For these handy men, does work ever end?

Then it's out to wind and wave once more,

The mighty sea, again to explore.

Wilf Harris, Fishburn.

Spin Doctors Request

It was the pensioners' vote that kept you in

But now our patience is wearing thin.

Our basic pension is an insult to all

So take action now and do not stall.

The five pounds rise was no surprise

It showed that Labour had opened its eyes.

But even that and you must agree

There's still too many suffering poverty.

Our pensions were reduced by the Tories and Thatcher

And we expect from you the strength to match her.

They changed our pension scheme while in command

Now reverse that trend and show where you stand.

So forward now with Labour and open eyes

May the future be bright and never demise.

Will our loyalty and vote have been worthwhile

And can we now go through life with a smile.

You've started with increases with great speed

From the top and what you need.

Now lower your sights to the very bottom

The heroes of our country are treated pretty rotten.

E Askew, Kirk Merrington.

Colette

A mercurial mustang

With mane to match

Kicks the stable

Lifts the latch

Quick Silver o'er the hills

Try to tame her

The pail she spills

The noose is broken

Snorts with glee

Flashing hooves are plain to see

Running, prancing, wild and free.

G Webster, Darlington.

The Wind

The wind howls and whistles,

Twirling the leaves around the garden;

Knocking anything down that is in its path.

It is like a giant, invisible wolf,

Howling to a full moon,

As a passing steam train whistles.

The leaves seem as if they are trapped in a whirlpool,

Imprisoned without consent;

The garden seems like their prison,

Caging them in a vast forest of barbecues and flowerpots.

They settle on the ground,

Forming a leafy carpet in the garden.

They twist and twirl,

Circle and curl;

The garden is a madness of leaves and blustering wind,

Trying its very hardest to encage them

The wind is so strong and so ferocious,

That anything in its way will be no more.

It blows them down and they don't have a chance,

As they are so vulnerable,

To the evil monster.

The garden is now a scrapyard

Of blown down fences, knocked over chairs,

Empty crisp packets and chewing gum wrappers;

Yet still, the wind carries on....

Sarah Bramley, aged 12, Darlington.

Pitman Beware

I dominate this place and you revolve around me,

Mesmerised, hypnotised you are drawn to see,

If I am a dream or a constant nightmare.

It is no hallucination, I am there.

Step into my cage at the ring of a bell,

Plummet through the earth to a special hell,

If I wish I'll do you harm,

I'll break a limb, a leg or an arm,

Respect me or I'll take your life,

Make your child an orphan, a widow of your wife.

Breathe in my stench, gasses and dust,

Dig and get coal from my seams if you must,

But pitman beware, you have one life to lose,

And I will take it whenever I choose.

Mary Bell, Easington Colliery.

Daughter No 2

52 years ago on 20th of June

The day when you were born.

I was so happy and full of relief

I did the hornpipe on the lawn.

Of course that day, I must admit

I'd have really liked a boy,

But since that first moment I held you

You have filled this house with joy.

I don't think I've ever told you -

Whether your mam would agree,

The way you've both turned out

I'd have liked another three.

Money was short in those days,

So to keep you well clothed and fed,

No such thing as a weekend off

It was either work or bed.

When the wages rose to £10 a week

We felt like millionaires,

We managed to acquire an A40 Somerset

In spite of all the stares.

We've been paid back well with kindness

I'm not afraid to say,

So here's wishing you Happy Birthday

You're worth it. Have a good day.

Bill Gething, Kelloe.