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.