Whitby pier, sea and harbour

Eric’s Whitby Poems

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

Whitby beach

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. 

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