Green Grow the Grasses Oh
by
Helen Scott
Helen is from the Wirral. She has written around 70 poems, each stimulated by her experiences. Helen says, 'Written with a song in mind, inspired by 'The Tide Full In' by Francis Fahy and the traditional Hornpipe, 'Thomond Bridge'. I am still very concerned with our disappearing beaches on the Wirral particularly at West Kirby, Hoylake and Meols, by grass that was artificially introduced and then allowed to take over.
It’s so sad in Hoylake when the tide is low.
The sand gets covered as the grass does grow
The dark nights lonely with the Curlews cry,
I’m dreaming, dreaming of the times gone by.
Donkey rides for children, hear the giggles and brays.
Seabirds skimming on the crest of waves,
Picnics on the beach, with sandwiches of sand,
Fairyland sandcastles with their flags so grand.
Oh! The lost days playing on the golden sand.
Blown away parasols are not so grand.
Searching for flotsam on the sea shore.
Emptying out a bucket then returning back for more.
There are various types of sea-weed that are washed upon the shore.
A skirt once was made for me when I was very small,
Shrimping in the rock-pools with a fishing net,
Nostalgic memories that I remember yet.
Strolling up and down along the prom prom prom.
Folks all humming tiddly om pom pom.
Listening to the music from the brass band stand.
Promenading couples looking oh! so grand.
Oh! The warming sun with it’s golden rays,
Heating up the sea for paddling many days.
Venturing from our beach hut. down along the shore,
In those days was very daring, the men could not ignore!
Victorian changing huts were just the craze.
Folks in woolly swimsuits would itch for days,
Punch and Judy shows with something good to eat,
Ice-cream or candy floss, a real, real, treat.
Running in the sand-dunes, playing hide and seek.
In the summer hol’s at the end of the week.
Drawing a picture in the soft smooth sand,
Then admiring ones art work looking Oh! so grand.
Searching around for driftwood we’d collect and keep.
And the coloured sea-shells strewn along the beach.
Mermaids purse and starfish from the bay.
Don’t allow the green grass now to smoother them away.
Oh take me back to those days of old.
With blue sky, sea of green and sand so gold
Now beach grass spreading roots far and wide.
Golden sands are hidden, that’s not our pride.
Now we visit woodlands, that’s become our craze.
With picnics in the woods amongst a bluebell haze.
The cuckoo singing from the woods within,
With my love beside me and we’re berry pickin.
So the solution to this poem, is not to groan,
Or sit in your comfy chair and moan, moan, moan.
Action is the answer without any doubt,
Get the convicts working now, to dig the grass out.