White Rose Poem by Stephen Holland

White Rose

They tell you of when times were hard
Folks shared toilets in the yard
The darned socks on the washing line
Dad digs coal down in the mine
The view out from your back-to-back
Is the panoramic black pit stack
Life tarnished by the dirt and grime
Children’s lungs smoked filled woodbines

They tell you of when things were scarce
And everything you had was shared
Clothes handed down from child to child
To subsidise dad’s pint of mild
The coal fire and the old tin bath
A holiday, you never had
What the pawn shop took from you today
You’d buy back at the next pay day

I am Yorkshire born and bread
Nowhere would I live instead
My heart lies due south of the Tyne
And due east of the dark Pennines
Yorkshire, with its satanic mills
Nestled between the frowning hills
Yorkshire is where my heart remains
Amongst the dales and cobbled lanes

To tell you of when things were rough
And men were made of harder stuff
The toil was hard the pay was small
Nothing much changes here at all