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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Friday night pints in Cleethorpes I was young and fancy free, Shift change lasses from Birds Eye And one of them chatted with me. She said she was bored near silly Working on the Fish Finger line, Was studying at her night class For a white collar job like mine. This was the mid nineteen sixties Class distinction so much worse For a lass it was work until marriage, Factory, shop, maybe enrolled nurse. Never heard of the glass ceiling Never heard of the Rat Race All was well with the world and folk Largely knew and kept their place . So sweet, that lass from Birds Eye As we kissed, cuddled, entwined And for a few glorious moments I was hers and she was mine. I walked her to her bus stop Quickly kissed her goodbye Watched her driven into my past That sweet lass from Birds Eye. Weeks later back to Cleethorpes But by then it was far too late. The Birds Eyes lasses there And I chatted to one her mates. No longer a fish factory worker, She’d worked her notice, gone, Nobody knew where or when Just she’d recently moved on. They said she’d been a loner, Not really one of their crowd Was quiet and reserved , They were boisterous and loud. None knew where she went None knew her address She was just a past work mate They couldn’t have cared less. So I supped my pint, loudly Played the chatting up game My heart not really in it, Without her it wasn’t the same. At closing time we parted, They on their way, I on mine, The last time I met the lasses From the Fish Finger line.
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