- October 11, 2016
The 100 year old Brighton author tells it how it is and was!
It stood there resplendent in all its glory,
Proudly reflecting a seaside’s great story.
The surging water beneath it glistened
As it told that story and the whole world listened.
That was back in the Twenties when I was a lad.
Patrolling its floorboards I was carefree and glad.
I passed by the dancehall and then on to the games,
Where I chanced some scarce pennies, but can’t remember the names.
At Christmas the theatre’s pantomime beckoned;
A most welcome seasonal treat I reckoned.
In summer the pierrots pranced in their show.
There was always somewhere exciting to go.
We were also aware of the sea at the end,
Where I gazed at the anglers when I went with a friend
And I’ll never forget the diver, with her feats so fantastic,
Whose Amazonian form seemed made of elastic.
The steamers to France that left the pier behind
Are another impression that sticks in my mind.
I couldn’t afford to board them, of course.
My pleasures came from a different source.
Yes, the real reason we bothered I’ve kept out of view.
Just read on and I’ll uncover the secret for you.
Called the Little Stockbroker, where those who knew how
Could extract pocket money – a virtual milch cow.
To the ordinary punter a straightforward gamble,
Whose innermost secrets they could never unscramble.
But we “sharks”, as we called ourselves, we knew the score,
We knew how to milk them for spondoolicks galore.
So that, then, was our pier. Alas, on the morrow,
I returned to a ruin – my heart filled with sorrow.
But the bright side, of course, is the i 3. 6. 0,
Which the BA has sponsored – so let’s give it a go!
My Beloved West Pier By Len Goldman