Joey Brown And The New Order Poem by Pete Crowther

After the War new suburbs rose
And builders did a roaring trade
But as with every new advance
There is a price that must be paid.

Between the new neat bungalows
Lived Joey Brown, an ageing gypsy
Who walked about in tattered clothes
And kept a string of shaggy ponies,
A dozen chickens, goats and dogs,
His yard a meeting place for cronies
And children from the neighbourhood
Who gathered there to have a ride
On Joey’s cart if they were good.

But his new neighbours found it hard
To live next door to Joey’s yard,
Petitioned the Council to close it down,
A disgrace, they said, to Beverley town,
Remove the gypsy, dogs and all.
The Council resolved to build a wall
To hide old Joey from the public eye.
This wall when built was nine feet high,
A monument to the middle class’s
Desire to shun the unwashed masses.

This all took place in Pighill Lane,
A name uncouth and far too plain
So now it’s known as Woodhall Way
And quite unspoiled we’re glad to say.
We keep up standards, guard our values,
That yard is now a courtyard mews!