The realigned face of Old Bangor
Up at the top of Down;
Hardly a sight from the past,
In this resort of esteem and renown.
Still in place the old Sea Wall
But the Bay is no longer there;
All those yachts and jetties,
I could only stand and stare.
Also the sign for Pickie Pool
Upon that eternal rock;
Gone as well, the Pool itself
To which we used to flock.
No coal from blackened puffers,
Being piled high on the quay;
Where the little boats took their rest
From ventures on the sea.
Or encrusted wooden stanchions,
Supporting a rickety Pier;
An excellent place to fish from
By men and boys with their gear.
Then said I to a passer-by
If I could hire a boat from Laird;
He looked at me with a wistful smile,
They were gone and I hadn’t heard.
On sauntering along by that old wall
I saw the McKee Municipal Clock;
Impressive and tall as it ever was,
Made from precision cut sandstone block.
Still to be admired is the Harbour House,
With its old square cornered tower;
From which were observed the Windjammers,
Later Steamers with pressurised power.
All one sees now is a boatyard
And craft stripped ready for paint;
With stainless steel fittings and halyards,
There’s no sign of anything quaint.
So I turned on my heel in an instant,
Going back the way I had come;
Its hard to accept all the changes,
I suppose its all right for some.
They developed a natural feature,
With a Civic idea of fun;
Obliterating all in the process
Around which we used to run.
Then I was back at the old Sea Wall,
With its wave rutted copes of stone;
As a reminder of another time,
It ruggedly stands alone.
Monty Alexander 21.8.96