Driving along the streets I grew up on,
along streets I used to walk along,
streets I used to play on.
There are middle - aged men and women
shuffling along.
Looking very tired,
looking very old!
Maybe they are.
Maybe these are the people I went to school with,
The people who I played with.
Maybe I look tired and old!
Ventnor on the Isle of Wight,
once a gem; a shining light.
A fashionable health resort had grown
'round a climate of its own,
'neath it's chalky downland hill,
said could cure many an ill.
The Southern Railway used to run
the 'well to do' for sea and sun,
the trains from Ryde did take them down
to 'Ventnor West' and 'Ventnor Town'.
To fill hotels; fill beaches too,
doing what was 'good for you!'
Taking the air; swim in the sea,
Ventnor was the place to be!
The beach to which Victorians thronged
now time and tide; both have wronged.
It was the 'Londoners' place to be,
they called it "Mayfair by the sea!"
Ventnors' current streets I feel
are looking a little down at heel.
The days of steamers at the pier,
day trippers all; come nowhere near.
But...
If on the Isle; head Ventnors way,
don't listen to what others say!
Stand on the beach; what's that you hear,
is that a steamer sailing near?
Are the stations full of trains?
Are we curing aches and pains?
For when we all can fly no more,
we will return to Ventnors shore!
(With a 'nod' to John Measefield's poem "Sea Fever")
I must go down to the sea again
at one with boats to be again,
and walk a shore,
to be once more,
'midst crashing waves; and free again!
I must go down to the sea again
the clouds; the sky with thee again.
Holding your hand,
along the sand,
and love a guarantee again!
The waves along the harbour wall,
the boats in time do rise and fall.
Skippers readying boats inside,
for morning; catch the early tide!
So I must go down to the sea again
to let my soul be free again,
to be at one
with sea and sun,
a rhythm there in me again.
