Memories of Fleetwood

An old school friend of mine has a Facebook Page called Fleetwood Stories and Poems.  It’s a public group and a place where you can share your stories and poems.  David is a teacher and creative writer.  He is also a musician. David lives in Derbyshire but is a ‘Cod Head’ at heart.  As I am only starting my literary journey his input has been hugely appreciated.  I therefore have two pieces to contribute to his page. Thank you David for your words of encouragement and I hope you enjoy. If you want to check out his writing you can find it here at http://davidaddingtonwritingandmusic.blogspot.co.uk/

First Love

On the sandbanks late one night

He held my hand and stroked my thigh

We drank cider and smoked cigarettes

Watching the fishing boats pass us by.

He pulled me roughly close to him

His acne visible in the pale moonlight

With a lunging aggression he took my virginity

On a cold and rainy Friday night.

We talked of school, of football teams

One day he was going to be a star

I gazed at him, adoringly

Knowing he would never get far.

He walked me home and kissed me hard

Beneath the porch with the broken light

I felt a crushing desire inside

As I watched him disappear out of sight.

And then the morning sickness came

My dreams of the future crumbled and died

I felt so helpless, so foolish and sad

Night after night I just sat and I cried.

All they said was you should have known better

I was to them a naive young girl

So I let them all scold me as nobody told me

About the pill and the end of the world.

The neighbours gossiped as neighbours do

But I became brave and held my head high

And when the time came, I knew I was to blame

For this blond haired beauty with bright blue eyes.

Now and then I look back with fondness

To that crazy drunken Friday night

And as I look at the man now holding my hand

He’s the image of a boy who once held me so tight.

by Hayley Mars

Fleetwood Memorial Park

We all have a favourite place, somewhere special, somewhere we feel happy and content. A place that creates memories and makes memories, a place filled with nostalgia. For me it is Fleetwood Memorial Park. An A Grade II listed park designed and developed in 1926 by Sir Leslie Patrick Abercrombie as a First World War Memorial Park . It is a beautiful, versatile green oasis and, in my opinion, the very heart of Fleetwood.  It has been a constant in my life from as far back as I can remember.  Feeding the ducks as a small child clutching my father’s hand and then holding onto my own children's hands.  It has always been an abundance of family activity, from fairgrounds to football games, holiday clubs to fitness forums. Tiny children gleefully squealing in excitement, teenagers experiencing their very first kiss and the elderly couples strolling slowly and steadily arm in arm reminiscing no doubt about their very first kiss.

This park has changed so much over the years but one monument which takes pride of place is the Cenotaph a tall imposing statue paying tribute to Fleetwood’s fallen.  Every year on Remembrance Sunday the statue and grass verges are a sea of red, adorned with poppies from the young and old in silent commemoration of the brave men and women who fought for our Country. Townsfolk turn up in droves filling the pathways that weave through the park with their hushed admiration and respect as Fleetwood Boys Band blast out Land of Hope and Glory giving me goose bumps although I am wrapped up well.

There are six entrances to the park, the main one located on Park Avenue.  As you walk through the triumphal arches, the path, Remembrance Avenue, is lined with sycamore trees leading up to the grandeur of the Cenotaph and beyond this shrine is a beautiful rose garden, a scented sanctuary to take you away from the rest of world.  Close to this little piece of heaven is the ornamental duck pond, which has over the years intermittently been a reserve to families of ducks, now surrounded with a wealth of flowerbeds and slippery limestone rockery.

Over the years my children have played and performed in the park.  I too have spent my cheerful carefree youth pounding the pavements and occasionally rebelling against my parents.  I have sat silently observing and alternately stood singing and celebrating. Every corner, every crevice brings forth a surge of memories.  Not just for me but for the many families of our small town.  It is iconic and proud, a keeper of secrets, our haven.  It lives in my heart and the hearts of my children.  It continues, over the years, to be replenished and restored, fortunately without taking away the true character we all hold so dear.