My Felling by Joyce Wilson

On The Felling Group on Facebook appeared this poem

My Felling
by Joyce Wilson

The Felling was once a sleepy place,
Friendly and homely, knew everyone's face
Then they came and pulled it down,
Gone went the streets of our little town
The high street remains but it's looking forlorn,
The echoes of the past await a new dawn
The square at its centre was awash with colour ,
Passing folk meet to chat to one another, 

Ladies with shopping, mothers with kids,
Dads going for a pint , 10 for a quid
Sunday was special, to Dragones we went,
The best ice cream around , was heaven sent,
Dads and sons came from the bars,
Meandered home across roads with few cars
Wednesday afternoon was a quiet affair,
Shops closed at one for the rest of the day,
The Felling will always be with me
Wherever I go,
The sights , the sounds,
The people I know
My Felling
It received much comment and Joyce added this  "Going to Harold Yorkes for your fish n chips , Dixons for a paper, Lavenders to get your shoes cobbled, the Palais first or second house, the Hadrian for broken biscuits"
Another poem on its way, perhaps

There sure was

Felling , to us was a Shangri-la, 

Where we lived and played and Newcastle was far

Back lanes were our kingdom we had to defend,
Don't venture to another without a friend,

Cut through at your peril like an alien from Space ,
Footsteps quickening at a fast pace

Bonner night was magic looking for gear,
A settee, a table ,a tree, we showed no fear,

Back gates got blistered from the flames that leapt high,
Roasted tatties all black and dry

Faces streaked with soot, hands the same,
Dreading the sound of Mam calling your name

"Get in here now" a familiar sound
But no backchat from me, that was never allowed,
We had respect for our parents or a clout we'd get ,
Pleading for a little bit longer but her mind it was set

The tin bath was taken from the nail on the wall,
Buckets of water on the stove stood tall,
A loofah that took the skin from your knee
With Derbac soap and a comb aimed at me,

Clean once more with hair that shone,
My winceyette pyjamas I then put on,
"Sit down hinny I'll do some supper"
Toast done on the fire and a nice steaming cuppa

Next day a pile of ashes stood
Where the night before it had been so good,

Christmas was coming , dreaming of toys ,
Roller skates with laces and bikes for the boys

My Felling childhood I'll treasure forever ,
My roots so deep no one will sever