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.
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