The Old Wooden Doll
by Keith Barrett
The embers burn slowly in
the fireside
In this proper old boozer
On the banks of the Tyne
Canvas floor and polished brass bar
To rest the shoe
Where everyone is sociable
And the locals all ask
How ya doin ?
How are you ?
The Tyne flows past
Close near
Behind back door
And time presents no barrier
If you feel the need
To sup just that little bit more
Not a gambling machine with neon light
In sight
Just a place to go
If you fancy a quiet pint
No extortionate charges demanded
No bouncers heavy handed
Just pints for pounds sterling
Approximately around about
the three
Just pints and patter
No fruit machine
No football match distraction
On a blaring wall mounted irritating TV
Like a time traveller
I sit
With me beverage of beer
I found tranquility tonight in here
Here on the North Shields fish quay
Drinking me pint
On the banks of the Tyne
In North Shields
In the The Old Wooden Doll tonight
Keith Barrett is the author of ‘A Black and White North East‘, a collection of 50 regionally themed poems published in 2023. You can buy a copy of his book here: https://worflags.org.uk/product/book-a-black-and-white-north-east-keith-barrett/
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
Photograph: Lee Stoneman
No air-built castles, and no fairy bowers,
But thou, fair Tynemouth, and thy well-known towers,
Now bid th’ historic muse explore the maze
Of long past years, and tales of other days.
Pride of Northumbria!—from thy crowded port,
Where Europe’s brave commercial sons resort,
Her boasted mines send forth their sable stores,
To buy the varied wealth of distant shores.
Here the tall lighthouse, bold in spiral height,
Glads with its welcome beam the seaman’s sight.
Here, too, the firm redoubt, the rampart’s length,
The death-fraught cannon, and the bastion’s strength,
Hang frowning o’er the briny deep below,
To guard the coast against th’ invading foe.
Here health salubrious spreads her balmy wings,
And woos the sufferer to her saline springs;
And, here the antiquarian strays around
The ruin’d abbey, and its sacred ground.
Jane Harvey
From ‘The Castle of Tynemouth. A Tale’ (1806)
