Remembering the Golden Mile

by Jim Bell

As a kid, we’d go to the coast for the day,

I’d squabble with my brother, most of the way;

We’d catch the train at Chatham,…not too late,

Then spend the day, at sunny Margate.


With our buckets and spades, we’d play in the sand,

Then cross the road, for some time in Dreamland;

Down the slope we’d trot, and pay our money,

Stare in the distorted mirrors, where we’d all look funny.


On the Helta Skelta we’d climb the steps, to the top,

Sit on a mat, and slide round, til we came to a stop;

Grab a stick with a hook, to try our luck

At winning a prize, by catching a duck.


The Big Wheel towered above us, with its swinging chairs,

Suspended…high up in the air.

Dad would try his hand, with an air-gun,

But the prizes on show, were seldom won.


We’d feast on candy-floss, and have an ice cream,

Buy sticks of rock with writing, to show where we’d been.

Fish and chips wrapped in paper; look at the postcard display;

Buy souvenir ornaments, to remember the day.


These days, so I hear, the place is dead…

At least…that’s what the news reports said;

It’s such a shame; - there’s so much potential, like before,

To be the greatest resort on South East Kent’s shore.


Restore Theme Park, shops, and other attractions,

Clean up the town; kick out disrupting factions;

Give future generations the chance, to leave with a smile,

After spending their time on Margate’s Golden Mile.


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