A Day At Blyth Poem by Paul Reed

The crowds gathered on Blyth's beach
To see how far into the past they could reach
And under their slightly cloudy skies blue
Re-enact the battles of World War Two

He had targeted this afternoon for a while
To be snapped holding a Russian hand pistol was just his style
But even as he swung that weapon on his hips
His mind turned to some of Blyth's tasty fish and chips

He dashed away from the beach, absent-mindedly clutching the gun
A strong image in his mind of cod and chips had begun
But as his appetite became ever more strong
He noticed the queue at the fish shop was some thirty yards long

Now even if in his frustration he had unloaded some lead
The bullet wouldn't even have reached the man at the queue's head
For although this tale seems a mite strange
The gun he grasped had barely a thirty yard range

Despairingly he turned back the way he had come
With empty stomach and feeling rather glum
But just to add to his day, seemingly running out of luck
Amongst the guns and smoke a black dog had run amok

Far from thoughts of the D-Day landings or Dunkirk
The crowd were being entertained by a dog gone berserk
And as the organisers ruefully looked on
The show was stolen by a black alsatian called Ron