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Church Lane


The last cottage on Church Lane
Just before the Churchyard gate,
Just about the place where
All the funeral cars would wait.
When it came to the facilities
About all that could be said,
It provided a safe roof
Over our family's head.

Those were the days when
Standards were generally bad,
Workers supposed to be grateful
For what little things they had.
But it provided a safe haven
A warm loving family place
From where I could observe
Just what was taking place.

The  everyday village life.
Superficially, an idyllic situation,
But woe betide the one who
Got ideas above his station.
Subtle pressure was applied
To families like mine
If any of their members didn't
Strictly toe the line.

That's how I learned my Socialism
Where I learned the need to fight
The need to follow my beliefs
If I thought them  just and right.
That old cottage still stands
Very basic but still sound
They rebuilt it brick by brick
Right up from the ground.

From the outside  
It's exactly the same
But inside now apparently
It's a very different game.
Modernised and remodelled
And what's more
It's been knocked into one
With the cottage next door.

Now an upmarket property,
Just a weekend residence,
Barely occupied these days by
Outsiders of some substance.
My village now a dormer village
Most of the families I knew gone
All in the cause of progress
As the world grinds inexorably on.

I still retain my belief in Socialism:
If I start to lose faith or I despair
I drive down to my old cottage
And see what's happened there.
Then  I can carry on quietly
Renewed in the need to fight
For Justice and equality and
The need to put things right.


 







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