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At The Gainsborough Fish Restaurant

From whaling to fishing
We were a City of the sea
Split in two by the Hull
Bounded by the estuary,
And the Bell Bottomed Boys
With their sidewinder trawl
Pulling in the nets full of
Their wriggling Silver haul.
I didn't know my history then
Was just a little village boy
Only knew the anticipation,
That sheer sensory joy,
Fish Ďn' taties at the Gainsborough
Which I thought was very posh
As our white aproned Waitress
Served a delicious plate of nosh.

Sometimes,  dark green mushy
Peas, that little extra treat
When mam could afford it,,
That made our meal complete.
A cup of tea included, half a slice
Each of brown and white bread
Buttered, so we felt well and truly
Stuffed, sated, luxuriously well fed.
I would sit there quietly
A look of satisfaction on my face
Yet more than a little awed
By the majesty of the place.
Always seeming crowded
As people came and went
Just that little bit posher
Than Carvers' Market Tent.

No Gainsborough anymore
No more fishing fleet
And Carr Lane is now
A very different shopping street.
The Gainsborough Restaurant,
The Cattle Market, Carvers Tent
All now well and truly gone
Part of the City's life that went.
No more Bell Bottomed Boys
No more three week haul
To bring back in triumph
The richness of the trawl;
I know things had to change.
But not always for the better
And I think sometime we throw
The baby out with the bath water.

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