Have you ever been to Filey, can you boast?

It’s a place that I return to more than most;

It’s charmingly well-hid,

South of Scarborough, north of Brid,

A secret haven on the Yorkshire coast.

 

Take the Scarborough road from York and head out East.

When you leave at Folkton traffic has decreased.

“Halfway there!” Dad quips quite dryly

When, in fact, that’s nearly Filey

And your cares and woes and worries are released.

 

But I’m loathe to over-publicise the town

And reluctant that the place should gain renown;

And speaking rather forceful,

I would be quite remorseful

If the charm of little Filey should go down.

 

It’s been accused of being out of touch-

Indeed it’s not commercialised as such;

Play some cricket on the sands

Or snooze to Filey’s bands

But either way they’ll not cost very much.

 

There’s pubs a-plenty for a beer or wine

There’s no lack of choice for cafes where to dine

If traditional’s your dish

Try some chips and battered fish-

The Brown Room is a favourite of mine.

 

I remember when I was a little lad

That we visited the baker’s with my dad;

For biscuits and desserts he

Would take us all to Sterchis

For the finest home-baked cakes you’ve ever had.

 

Maybe then he’d treat us to a donkey ride

Or a game of pitch and putt, he might decide;

But if the waves were big

We’d miss out Filey Brigg

And take a stroll there later at low tide.

 

But now I’ve reached that time you might construe

That my next suit of clothes might see me through,

I still prize very highly

The times I spend in Filey

With each trip always seeming overdue.