Darlington

Oh, what a lovely town is Darlington,

With tubs of flowers by pleasant ways,

Tall trees within its boundaries set,

Attracting one's admiring gaze.

Its Cornmill Centre is a shopper's treat,

Its parks a dreamer's paradise;

Its river flowing in between green banks

A feature that can charm all eyes.

On High Row, near the old clock tower

A model engine stands in state,

Decked florally to grace the town

From which railways originate.

Margaret Comer, Darlington.

Nature's Spirits

Down the garden at dusk

Sweet smelling fragrance of musk,

At first the eye cannot see

Look again and dancing with glee,

Transparent figures, skipping in and out

Through a forest of leaves.

Listen hard, you can hear them shout,

Chatting, singing and telling stories tenfold

The little fairy people who never grow old.

They dance with joy all through the night

Casting dozens of spells with delight.

Upon foxgloves and jasmine, the honeysuckle too

They sprinkle their magic for me and you.

Dawn breaks, one wakens to a beautiful sight

The fairies have taken off into flight.

Leaving magic dust and toadstool rings

Our wonderful captivating Nature's spirits with wings.

Jean Longstaff, Little Crakehall, Bedale.

FOOT-AND-MOUTH

All the fields are empty

No little lambs at play.

Only the trilling of a bird

The MAFF men came today.

No sheep upon the headland

For Shep to drive away.

No cows stand 'neath leafy boughs

The MAFF men came today.

The farmer chews on empty pipe

No money, for bills, to pay.

No lambs or sheep to sell

The MAFF men came today.

The funeral pyres are burning

Where all his animals lay.

His heart is filled with sorrow

The MAFF men came today.

What of the future?

Of that he cannot say.

He is full of anger

The MAFF men left today.

Kathleen Lincoln, Brompton, Northallerton.

Dear Old Stockton

Years ago, when I was young my head was full of dreams

I'd stroll down Stockton High Street making plans and scheming schemes.

I'd love the old town with its famous Dutch town hall

And St Mary's lovely Gothic church where we'd sit upon the wall.

Our school in Nelson Terrace built from renowned London brick

The head was Dr Kinnes, he wore a cloak and had a stick.

One day they knocked the old place down, moved us all to Oxbridge Lane

Grangefield Grammar sounded posh, but for me it was a pain.

You see, it seemed so far out of town, lunchtimes could never be the same

We could not go down Finkle Street and watch the ships that sailed and came.

'Cos up the River Tees they came when they lifted Newport Bridge

Bringing fancy cargoes, spices, fruits and monkey's midge.

Tied up close to our High Street the widest in the land

They came from far-off places famed for sun and sea and sand.

Sometimes we'd slip down Courtyard Passage that led straight to the docks

Tried to glimpse a girl called Betty, who showed us more than just her socks.

Sadly, now the years have flown and I've reached my three score vintage,

Stockton's changed so very much, not all to great advantage.

Block paving, one-way systems, car parking zones and more

Confusion in the High Street with crowds and crowds galore.

So come on Johnny Archer, once of Norton Avenue

Dickie Bamborough from Billingham, both good lads that we once knew.

Mick Wilkinson from Thornaby, whose dad was a master baker

Viv Anderson from Norton too, the son of a caretaker.

What's happened to you Stockton, I often sit and wonder

One thing's for sure, you're still a damned fine town, and may you never fall asunder.

Good luck to the boys I've mentioned and all our Teesside population

'Cos you're all a most integral part of our great united nation.

Derek Hamilton, Peterlee.

The Boys At The GPO

A down-and-out thought he would write

A letter to his Saviour

Please God send me a hundred quid

The situation's grave here.

The lads there at the GPO

Thought they would do some good.

They didn't have a hundred pounds,

But they did what they could.

They sent him sixty pounds and soon

Received another letter.

Dear God, I thank you very much

I'm feeling so much better.

But, with regret, I have to say

Some folks are very naughty.

Those buggers at the GPO

Have nicked the other forty.

Bill Cooksey, Newton Aycliffe.

The Birds In Our Garden

There's a bird table in our garden,

Where we put the crusts and crumbs.

The birds fly in and eat them,

Even the magpie comes.

We have lots of starlings and sparrows,

Robins and blackbirds too,

A greenfinch often visits

And two doves sometimes pass through.

Sometimes we hear seagulls,

Though we're quite a way from the sea.

Jackdaws and crows leave messes

On dad's car regularly.

We have a little wren

Fluttering around our tree.

Bluetits, coal tits and great tits

Come each day just to see me.

In our waterfall they splash.

They come for a bath each day.

They look for worms and snails

Which they catch and take away.

They sing loudly every morning.

Their feathers are coloured and bright.

One day a canary landed.

The cat got him with one bite!

It's lovely to watch them all

Sipping water out of a dish.

There's even a plastic heron

Guarding our pond and fish!

Ciaran Jasper, aged five, Sedgefield.

My Northern Echo

I love to read my Northern Echo

It gives me all the local and world news,

It has a section called Hear All Sides

If you want to air your views.

There is lots of good reading in the Echo that I like

In classified you can buy anything from a bed-knob to a bike.

I also like the back page

It gives you the latest sport,

The writers and their colleagues,

Always give a good report,

I like to read the poems,

And the TV guide.

Most papers have a front and back,

But not a lot inside,

So it doesn't really matter

If its sunshine rain or snow,

I just sit down and relax, and chill out,

With my daily Northern Echo.

A Bennett, Esh Winning.

Sunset

Sweet is the time

When we remember those we love,

In the gold of the horizon

When the wispy clouds break above.

Then, when the daylight darkens

And the working hours depart,

There comes the calming moonlight

To ease the weary heart.

At evenfall the clouds and the sun

Enact their ever-changing story

And man, his daily labours done,

Watches with enchantment, the many-splendoured glory.

Wilf Harris, Fishburn.

The Skiers

Two old fogeys out in the snow

Nobody knows why they wanted to go.

Home, fireside chair, all nice and cosy

To go dicing with death at their age seems quite dozy.

Out on the piste is the intrepid pair

With new goggles each to protect from the glare.

Side by comforting side sliding into the vortex

No one knows who's who as they both have blue Gortex.

Resplendent in thermals and hats with a bobble

Vainly trying to stop knees from starting to wobble.

Down, down they both go, with a whisper of sound

Singing and yodelling 'til they hit the ground.

And when they're both wheeled in for their operations

We'll be raising a glass for their celebrations.

But whatever befalls them when together they ski

Please, please hold on tight to your duty-free.

But seriously, we admire your nerve

Though do try and remember just when to swerve.

For if you bump into something teutonic

The resulting boom could be supersonic.

Well, we've all had a laugh at your expense

But who can say just who is dense.

As, when driving towards our work and care

We, all unspoken, wish we could be there.

Ann Egglestone, Darlington.

Don't Let A Dream Die

Everyone has a dream, one day, we hope, will come true,

We're no different in this respect, us, me and you,

It could be winning the Lottery, or scoring a winning goal,

Take away the dream, you take away the soul.

One needs something to aim for, to take us through this life,

To help fight boredom and hardship, poverty and strife,

What must it feel like for someone on the dole?

Take away their dream, you take away their soul.

To fulfill my dreams, is for us to be as one,

Starting again life afresh, past forgotten, gone.

It's all I ever think about, the dream I forever hold,

Take away my dream, you take away my soul.

Terry Uttley, West Auckland.

From A Photo In The Northern Echo

This is the owl and the prince.

One sits and stares and hardly blinks,

The other laughs and smiles

And cracks a joke.

He seems a jolly bloke.

One seems solemn and wise,

The other has laughter in his eyes.

Yet who are we to judge by looks?

Wisdom is not only found in books

But in the happy heart that sends out

waves of joy

To all who lack.

So smile great owl -

For he beside you may be

The wisest joker in the pack.

Mary Ellery, Peterlee.