Ferry Lane, Skellingthorpe. Poem by Timmy Angel Naylor

Oh to be that child again
And ride my bike down Ferry Lane.
Wind and speed conspired with the sun
To steal my heartbeats
One by one
To surf the greasy top
Of the rushing road.
And pausing only to look, hushed,
To the dark intrigue
Of the abbatoir jaws.
Or wade, waist-high in the marsh
To abduct the innocent eggs of the gull.

Fishing the Fossdyke; Always providing
You safely cross, by Rowlands Siding,
The busy track, where thundering past,
The Knight of the rails, Sir Nigel Gresley
Hauled his freight
And stole my breath as I clung to the gate.
And scaffle pike spins my dreams
In it's howling slipstream (A fish?)
(Ok Peak.Class 44 D1 44001 Scafell Pike BR Sulzer Type 4)
But scaffle pike.

One sunny holiday, straggling
The canal bank,
The Pyewipe Cottagers came, and
Swam, fished and picnicked
Through the warm afternoon.

Oh to be that child again
And ride my bike down Ferry Lane.
Less a place of habitation now.
But spirit-children play
In the long grass that was
the railway cottage.

And wielding his lonely oar
From bank to bank,
Through the cruel tides of time
Rows the ferryman.