800 Years of North Shields

Stuck in sodden dugouts while easterly batters,
Fish and nets are meant for this dwelling,
Great work has gone on, marsh drained and coal mined,
On the Prior’s patch. And landed catch provides for all,
Finer fare than cabbage and pluck,
But gruelling in the Gut is no easy job.

For a town in transit, Prior’s power grows,
Under two tallow lights, boatyard, mill and brewery sprout,
Bridge and jetties extend their reach past tidal pull,
And south side brother follows suit with Church’s sway,
In haven safe from wretched reef,
Served by salmon, cod, crab and eel.

But a mighty rival also owned the river,
With royal rights as northern fortress,
Ready to grasp and strongarm, to raze and nip this bud,
Yet unbowed, the early town upwards rose,
Where bastion was meant to be, shipowners foresaw,
Figures sailing from a new shore.

Down among packed herring luggers,
Leaving for Silver Pit and Dogger Bank,
Lads lie low while press gang corral,
Tightening a noose for the cursed cutters,
As tavern gives brief sanctuary,
For one more throw of the dice.

Up Tannery Bank, above blazing foundry and kiln,
An engine winds from clink to dolphin,
Where chaldron duly tips to waiting collier,
And two great whalers set for distant ocean,
So folk can navigate their way at night,
On fresh streets laid on ropery lines.

Then a yet more resolute age arrived,
With its share of laurels and wreaths,
For resilient enigma and laconic port,
By still busy dock and desolate fort,
Stayed its stubborn course for centuries passed,
Where once thriving quay still forms the start,
For ordered throng and visitors massed.

By Luan Hanratty

City Spirits

Ghosts of the Past

A Watchful Eye

Penbal 1 – 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.