Matty, Pennant 790

The Yarmouth I remember, is different from today, Like a film star from the fifties With golden locks, now old and grey.

I remember bustling beaches, Men with monkeys on their shoulders, Arcades and the smell of doughnuts, People bathing on the boulders.

The only photographs I’ve ever seen, Of my grandad, father’s side, Was by the pier here With a sign for donkey rides.

Walking around now it’s all changed, though many buildings are still there, It seems so quiet to how I recall it, Parks once bustling, cold and bare.

I remember building sandcastles That stood until the tide Would come and knock them down. And we’d rebuild them tall and wide.

Now the town looks like those castles Waiting for the sea to come And eat it all up, But maybe just like we

Would rebuild our stately castles From buckets filled with sand, They can restore the falling buildings And rebuild the old bandstand.