Austerity (another casualty)

The Rising Sun at Beeding
is closed and shuttered now
But the stained glass sign outside still hangs
with dignity somehow

Its classic valley views
with a pint come evening time
no longer, sadly, to be seen
when it was at its prime

For now its doors are firmly shut
The beer pumps closed and dry
Another casualty of the times
to bring a tear to eye

But, sad although its closure is
I’m pleased the sign’s still there
As it serves as a reminder
for those who have a care


The Rising Sun public house at Upper Beeding in Sussex originates from 1857 when it was built as a brewery and ale house. Sadly it closed to the public in 2017, another casualty of UK austerity madness. 

A fall from grace III

I found it on the high tide line
after a night of fire
the grand old lady of the sea
destroyed by spite and ire
Never proved but always known
her final hours presumed
the work of arsonists with flame
the pier now lost, consumed

Yet carried on an ebbing tide
along the coast to me
a memory of those boards I trod
now rescued from the sea
And though her grandeur now has gone
complete her fall from grace
Brighton’s West Pier always will
in history have a place


On 28 March 2003 the pavilion at the end of the derelict West Pier in Brighton caught fire. Always presumed to have been the work of arsonists, yet never proven, it was still the final death knell for the grand old lady. Opened back in 1866 and surviving two world wars, the pier was sadly closed to the public in 1975. However, I still have fond memories of walking its promenade decks back in the 60s and early 70s. Who knows, I could have trodden the very board fragment I rescued and which now has pride of place in my back garden.

Part III of the ‘Falling from Grace’ trilogy
Part II – 7 October
Part I – 6 October

Writing 101- day 4: “Little Bear Lost”

In a sultry part of the forest where the dandelions grow tall

And Abigail skipped lightly, too happy to see him fall

The sun shone bright and lazily, a sleepy afternoon haze

Where tears were little hidden things not to be seen for days

Happy at first, contented, watching life go by

Insects floating, soft he lay, nothing but a sigh

Whispering gentle, the sun grew long, shadows creeping in

Wondered then when she would come to hold and cuddle him

Dark the night, long and cold, the grass a hawthorn now

Course and rugged, hurting him, cold dew upon his brow

Matted fur and shivering, the shaking of his toes

A soft and fragile whimpering, a tear long on his nose

And back at home, the fretting one, no consoling she

Pined away for Little Ted, prayed on bended knee

Sobbing to the pillow soft, sleep came frail that night

A lonely pair, bereft in loss; pitiful that sight.

Morning dawning, sunshine bright, tried to smile away

But she could not be comforted on this her searching day

Back to the forest, long and dark, back the way she came

But alas, they passed him by, their searching all in vain

Little Ted, he heard her voice, tireless, calling him

But his little voice it would not reach her ears through nature’s din

Watched as shadows passed him by, tears flowed freely now

Longed to feel her warming hand soft upon his brow

Summer faded, Autumn came, leaves turned red and gold

And a farmer came a-walking, frail and very old

Prodding with his walking stick, found a little bear

Put him in his pocket instead of leaving him just there

And in market town that Wednesday, took him to the store

Asked Mrs Price to find a way to give him pride once more

Washed him then and spruced him, round his neck a bow

Sitting on a cardboard box with dollies in a row

And when Abigail came walking she saw him through the glass

“Little Ted!” she cried and then “I’ve found you at long last”

Re-united the happy pair skipped and danced again

A song of happiness sung then, hear long that glad refrain

Little bear lost yet found again, tears all dried up now

His small black nose now comforted, soft hand upon his brow

And Abigail, her smile complete holds Little Ted up high

And laughs long with the sunshine, a full contented sigh.





Small Boat

Sad, bereft, alone, forgotten

Small boat on the bank

It’s final resting place remains

From the day it sank

Rotting and its old paint faded

Graffiti now replaces

Vacant eyes look to the water

Holes with tattered spaces

Water-filled as high tide turns

It has seen better days

A sad and trite reminder

Of a fatal summer blaze

©Jemverse (November 2005)

The Pier

Yellow and burning in the night

A sad testimony to a bygone age

Proud it might be

Of its glitz and glamour

Of its city status

And nouveaux riche citadels by the sea

But its grandeur has gone

The calming pleasure of a promenade,

The simple delight of taking the air

Distant are these memories now

And an elderly lady

Her prime like those halcyon days now bereft and lost

Is painfully prohibited

From passing gracefully away.


©Jemverse (February 2003)



%d bloggers like this: