In Liverpool, where seagulls cry,
Winds from the river still murmur by,
The past talks to us, bold and true,
With names that built me and you.

Etched on bricks and iron gates,
On corner pubs and road name plates,
Their echoes live in every street,
Where us and these great people meet.

Alan Bleasdale wrote it raw,
Working-class lives stripped to the core.
Phil Redmond, in a soap and scene,
Made Brookie ours, both tough and keen.
Carla Lane, with wit and tears,
Gave Liver Birds suburban fears.
The Beatles, of course, a life unfurled.
Four lads who sang and shaped the world.
With Brian Epstein’s guiding hand,
From Penny Lane to every land.

And Gerry Marsden’s famous song
Taught us how to walk on strong.
Cilla Black, from cloakroom start,
To chart-topping voice and the nation’s heart.
Elvis Costello, with lyrics keen,
Brought rebellion to the mainstream.
Stephen Graham is tough and raw,
In Jodie Comer we’re full of awe.
John Bishop jokes with sting and grace,
Jimmy McGovern tells truths we face.

Tom Baker, Doctor to the stars,
Daniel Craig, driving Bond’s cars.
Claire Foy, in stately stride,
Rita Tushingham the city’s pride.
Alison Steadman, such pure delight,
Jean Alexander was Corrie’s light.
Ken Dodd, tickled us for years,
Through jam butties, gags, and the tears.
Jimmy Tarbuck, still brings cheer,
Arthur Askey’s laughter you can hear.

Stan Boardman’s grins,
Tommy Handley’s, wartime sins.
Tom O’Connor showed quiz and flair,
Freddie Starr was a really wild affair.
Kenny Everett with mad delight,
Derek Nimmo, in the stage spotlight.
Alexi Sayle, a subversive spark,
Rob Wilton, from the music hall dark.
Frankie Goes to Hollywood were bold,
Mel C, millions of singles she sold.

The Scaffold, mixing rhyme and song,
John Peel helped us all belong.
Beryl Bainbridge wrote novels wide,
Carol Ann Duffy, had a laureate’s stride.
Willy Russell, penned with soul,
Helen Forrester showed hardship’s toll.
Adrian Henri, a voice so bright,
Brian Patten, the city’s light.
Roger McGough in gentle tones
Painted Liverpool in poems and stones.

William Roscoe, had conscience wide,
He helped stop the slave trade’s tide.
Eleanor Rathbone was justice born,
To family allowance she was sworn.
Kitty Wilkinson with soap and care,
The saint of slums, with love to spare.
Bessie Braddock, bold and loud,
For working folk she stood so proud.
Dr Duncan, health’s first line,
The first medical officer of all time.

Dorothy Hodgkin, brought X-ray light,
Peter Mansfield, made MRIs our right.
George Stubbs, painted horses by name,
Peter Blake had pop art fame.
With Frank Cottrell Boyce, children wonder,
He spins them stories they love to plunder.
Paul O’Grady had heart and sass,
Lit up the stage; let’s raise a glass.
Patricia Routledge was laughter’s queen,
Rex Harrison, had cinema’s sheen.

Liverpool and Everton, fierce and fair,
Legends trod that sacred air:
Shankly, Paisley, Dalglish too,
Benitez, Klopp, and Slot so new.
Catterick, Moyes, the blue brigade,
Dixie Dean, a 60-goal legend made.
Bill Kenwright, stories told,
A theatre man with football’s soul.
Joseph Williamson, tunnels deep,
Secrets his brickwork chose to keep.
Frank Hornby, with toys so fine,
John Brodie, a town planner devine.
Thomas Ismay, the White Star Line ruled,
Ginger McCain, Red Rum he schooled.

Leonard Rossiter, a comic might,
Anne Robinson, got the questions right.
Pete Postlethwaite, a voice so vast,
John Conteh, his fists flew so fast.
Chris Boarman on his famous bike.
Glenda Jackson, actor and politician alike.
Stan Kelly wishes he was back in Liverpool.
He wrote songs about the city as a rule.

Ricky Tomlinson, ‘my arse’, he found.
Lynda La Plante wrote of crime unbound.
Jaqui and Bridie and the Spinners too,
Had folk clubs, always with a queue.
Andy Burnham, a class act and a blue,
John Moores had football dreams too.
Gladstone, steered the state for us all to see,
John Houlding founded LFC.

James Picton, libraries he spread,
Robert Durning Holt, our civic head.
William Huskisson, rail’s first defeat,
His name now adorns a street.
William Laird made the shipyard spark,
Jack Jones had a worker’s bark.
Arthur Dooley, sculpted grace,
With iron, faith, and working face.

And still the names go on, and grow.
In every corner, pride will show.
In brick and song, in dreams set free,
Liverpool lives in you and me.