Treasure Island

Douglas McClarty

(Northern Ireland)


The magazine showed butlins camps
But was further than the moon
For the pounds and shilling to get us there
Was never coming soon

So I dreamed someday we go together
To this holiday camp in heaven
Way Me brothers and my sisters
And my best friend at school called Kevin.

But the milkman, butcher and grocer
took up the holiday pot
And left Ma and Da in a bit of a spot
Butlin's this year was a definite not

My magazine grew thinner
As It disappeared up the flue
Like my thoughts of seeing Butlin's
My dreams were getting few.

Dad announced that summer
We would all be on a trip
To a big red bus outside Portrush
So we packed our holiday kit.

Ballyreagh was certainly not Butlin's
But it gave us all the thrills
As we played in the golden sand.
And fished in the deep blue pools.

The big red bus was our summer home
A house with windows and wheels.
It's final stop was a grassy spot
Looking out to sea.

I never thought of Butlins again
As my brothers sisters and me
Lived that summer in that big red bus
At Ballyreagh...... by the sea.

Submitted: Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Edited: Tuesday, November 19, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

As a child I always wanted to go to Butlin's holiday camp, but it never happened. But my Father was allow to use a friends converted red bus for a few weeks during the 1950's still have vivid memories

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