Orchard Park Housing experiment Hull 1960's

Young alive on Orchard Park.
Always dismal sometimes dark.
Watching dogs shit in the street
Paperboy quotas to meet.
Lordly castle thrown up cheap
Two up two down lovers leap.
Two trees to climb keeping fit
One field to play with kids and kit.
Fucking field full of dog shit.


Three blocks of flats
Filled up and run by twats.
Old people shipped quotas to meet

It's like abroad after Bean Street.
Vertical H blocks building fear,
Kids in lifts shit to smear.
Lonely old folks on floor twenty-one
Hoping there's a god before they're gone.
Gone gone fucking gone.


Blood on the pavement laying there,
Bloody smear let's all stare
At the futility of our care.
Better to jump then live there
It's the only time eyes upon you stare.
Who'd have thought they would care.
They came from Bean Street
the rough part of Hull feel the beat,
of workers marching amazing feat.
Polished door steps but on floor tabbing.
On the street its lovely gabbing.


All the kids sharing beds,
Leave doors open friendly fashion ,
Talking trawlers a flawed passion.
"We've lived next door for forty years".
They've always gone waving hands from piers.
hope they come home unlike so many dead.
Husbands off fishing sailed from pier head.
Hope the bastards coming back.
Comes home for three days boozed to say
c'mon let's spend me pay.


Comes home drunk beats his wife.
Wives and grandmas feel the strife.
Always loads on backs for women.
The gregarious gaggle of women helping,
helping each other in friendships.
Drawn together in mutual pain.
Know no different lives in disdain,
“She fucking started it” feel the pain.
of husbands drunken blows again.
It's rough down road sharing pain.
Clothes handed down sibling street,
Kids and wives there to beat.

 

C’mon now we’ve got something new,

a room with a view across the park.

its Orchard Park always sunny never dark.
shared community ripped to shreds,

you don’t need much your old and poor,

you’ve got a spy hole in the door,

Thats your community now love.

You’ll soon get used to it now move!

 

Wait now look there in the sky,

How many looked and decided to die?

Lost alone, hidden away, who’s told the lie?,

a lifetime spent in a cupboard waiting,

Go to the balcony look down,

Don’t be afraid, don’t show a frown.

It’ll be like flying,

stop your crying,

You’ve already lived a life,

don’t cause strife.

 

Broken dreams are not on a boulevard.

They’re behind a spy hole on floor twenty-one.

Your old its a different world now,

your world is on the concrete below.

and when you arrive we’ll stop and stare,

at the woman whose life is bare there,

crashed for all to see there after the view.

We turn and walk away scared its true,

we’re sorry, sort of sorry,

What can we do its true

old woman nobody knew you.

who should cry?

 

Its my shame its been true

it was twenty years and lots of tears

before i learnt to know you.

Bloody old smear splashed into the street

i know now i still see you on concrete.

You were never a candle in the wind,

 

🌷 (1)

◄ Stories to tell..

Betrayed by the hands. ►

Comments

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raypool

Sat 25th Jun 2016 20:53

Phil, I read this quickly and it has all the flavour of life of the 60's with its immoral implications and lack of care that typifies that period , a sort of life with the hands thrust into the pockets of death , bleak and black and white. Lovely mate.

Ray

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Phil Kay

Sat 25th Jun 2016 14:35

Sorry don't know what happened to the formatting.

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