Whitby has inspired many people to put pen to paper and we love reading your creative pieces about our beautiful town. We were thrilled to hear from Eric Saxelby-Roberts who shared some of his memories with us.
Eric sent us a couple of his Whitby poems and now we’re going to share them with you.
Whitby’s Northern Lights
Just as the sun sets in the sea
The fishing fleet would leave the quay
Then to the fishing grounds would sail
To find their silver holy grail
Their miles of nets are cast around
Upon the north sea fishing ground
The shining bounty that they seek
The shoals of herring in the deep
As darkness falls such wondrous sights
Of drifters with a thousand lights
Appear across the dark north sea
Like stars for all the world to see
Then in late summers early dawn
To port the fishing boats are drawn
To land their sparkling shining catch
While we in wonder stand and watch
Then boats made shipshape nets repaired
Then time to rest and get prepared
To sail into the twilight, leave us standing on the shore
As we wait to see the beauty of our Northern Lights once more
Memories of a Whitby Summer
Of sea and ships of fish and chips of Trillo’s best ice cream
The miles of golden sand that I remember in my dreams
Botham’s Penny bread loaves, cakes and lemon buns
Of hours spent down on the beach beneath the summer sun
The Pink Lounge at the Royal where the visitors had their tea
The boat trips round the bell buoy across the blue green sea
The paddling pool the mini golf the so smooth putting greens
The arcades with the dodgems and penny fruit machines
The swing boats on the battery with other games and rides
Of fishing from the east pier depending on the tides
The day of the regatta, with fairground and market stalls
And trying to win a goldfish by tossing ping-pong balls
The Fisher Lads and Friendship that raced to win the day
The greasy pole the float parade the firework display
The myriad of fishing boats beyond the harbour lights
Seen from the top of west cliff on late summer nights
Of waking in the morning to the tune of seagull cries
And queueing up on Saturday’s for Johnson’s fresh pork pies
The smell of Fortunes smoke house from Henrietta Street
The golden wonders that they made considered such a treat
These memories of long ago are still so very clear
So now I’m in my seventies these memories are dear
The thing I feel most thankful for is, no memories are sad
There with me for the rest of time as with every Whitby lad.
We hope you liked Eric’s Whitby poems! Get in touch on Twitter to let us know what you thought.