Butlin days

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Minehead and Bognor, Clacton and Ayr,

Conjure up Butlin’s, The holiday camp fare.

But I like to think of the one near to me,

And this one is Filey, beside the North Sea.

It still took a couple of hours to get there,

With the smell of the sea and the wind in your hair.

And after reception, booked in, we were given

The key to a chalet, maybe row 27.

With one set of bunk-beds and one double bed,

A place for your clothes for mam, dad and Fred.

Quite basic, in fact, for we hadn’t a lot,

But the water for bathing was always red hot.

Then off to the dining hall for something to eat,

There was fish on a Friday and other days meat.

And after your meal to the Gaiety bar go,

To watch the famous Redcoat show.

With snooker and football and knobbly knees,

Hotdogs and ice-cream, hot pie and peas.

Rides for the kids all day that were free,

Then off to the Beachcomber for a quiet cup of tea.

So if you were one of the ‘hi-de-hi’ scene,

Who went every year to this camp evergreen;

Remember it well when you grab a cold beer,

Raise your glass to Sir Billy and give him a cheer.

D Dickenson,

Caistor Drive,