Cowden Beach, East Riding

The cliffs are being eaten away By the constant pulsing tide. Now just a short walk from the lane When it was once a short bike ride To the edge where we used to Scrambled down to swim and play On the clean empty sandy beach Our playground for the day. Just three miles from home Along the windy country road Most of us walking all the way Though some with bikes rode. The firing range no longer there The red flag flying out of bounds And we sitting beneath their path As jets flew in firing their rounds Then combing the beach Hoping to find the shell cases Valued souvenirs sometimes Found in the strangest places. Whole days on that beach To sunbathe, wander and roam Until came the time when Hunger drove us all back home. You’re not poor if you don’t know it Or until somebody tells you so And in our childhood days we Had so many places free to go. We had Lambwaths fields to roam The clffs, sea, and Cowden Beach And with the energy of youth All within such easy reach. A retirement and commuter place Now as the years have crawled on, Most of the small farms amalgamated And the old family names are gone. Do children from the village still In that long summer holiday time Wander off to Cowden Beach Or holiday in a warmer foreign clime.