A Friday night pint in Cleethorpes
When I was young and fancy free,
Some shift change lasses from Birds
Eye, and one of them chatted with me.
She said she was bored near silly
Working on the Fish Finger line,
Was studying at her night class
For a white collar job like mine.
This was the mid nineteen sixties
Class distinction so much worse
For a lass it was work until marriage,
Factory, shop, maybe enrolled nurse.
We'd never heard of the glass ceiling
Never heard of the Rat Race
All was well with the world and folk
Largely knew and kept their place .
She was sweet, that lass from Birds Eye
As we kissed and cuddled in the Park
And she freely gave what both wanted
In that warm summer's evening dark.
I walked with her to her bus stop
Quickly kissed her goodbye
Watched her drive off into my past
That sweet young lass from Birds Eye.
Weeks later and back to Cleethorpes
But by then it was far too late.
The Birds Eyes lasses were in there
And I got chatting to one her mates.
No longer a fish factory worker,
She'd worked her notice and gone,
Nobody knew quite where or when
Just she'd recently moved on.
They said she'd been a loner,
Not really one of their crowd
Was quiet and reserved ,
They were boisterous and loud.
None of them knew where she went
None of them knew her address
She was just a past work mate
Really they couldn't have cared less.
So I supped up my pint and played
The Friday night chatting up game
My heart not really in it,
Without her it wasn't the same.
At closing time we all parted,
They on their way, I on mine,
And that was the last time I met
The girls from the Fish Finger line.