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Catching Fish in Swansea Bay 
Sixty years ago today
the village had a trip
to Swansea Bay.
I was too young to go without Mam.
Just Billy could go.
 
“I’ll catch, for you”, he said
“the biggest fish in Swansea Bay”.
“I’ll hold it at the window,
so be sure to meet the train”
 
and they crowded on the platform on that hot, sunny day.
Mr Morgan with his black box camera
Mrs Phillips with her baby dressed in lace
The minister rallying the Sunday school,
chasing and racing all over.
 
I whiled away that lonely day.
Till I heard –
not far away
clashing of steel, grinding of wheel.
I ran through the night – feet flying fast
to see if the biggest ever
fish was going passed.
 
The great train hissed to a grinding halt.
And out of the grey,
a single cornet started to play.
No cheering,
no laughter,
no song.
 
Doors opened slowly.
Tearstained cheeks stepped down from the train.
Mr Morgan with his head hung low,
Mrs Phillips clutched her baby very tight.
The minister handed down each child.
 
All the while the cornet played I waited for Billy
who never came.
 
If you ask people now they always say,
‘He’s catching fish in Swansea Bay.’
 
 
 
 
 
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