Counter-Heritage

The Blackpool of the West It’s so close to the endless edgelands of Avonmouth, That warehouse-dystopian modernity, Where no-one seems to manufacture anything, Just store stuff, move stuff or exchange stuff, And then choose a café for a coffee and a croissant: The British economy. But a century ago, courtesy Of the Great Western Railway, Severn Beach was reinventing itself, As a holiday resort of sorts, A Pleasure-land of the floodplains With their isolated farms and cottages, And then a railway station opened there in 1923 (The circular Avonmouth line had opened Earlier at the turn of the century). Its inter-war hey-day saw excursions, Cyclists, promenaders, hikers, Chalets, sheds, a structure built from bits of an old bus, A boating lake, cafes, tea shops, And the Blue Lagoon Swimming Pool, With diving boards, see=saws, a slide and fountains, At ‘The Blackpool of the West’. And what else might you see in the summer-time Along its mile-long ‘shingle beach’? Look hard and ignore the bridge across the river, For there they all are, forgetful of war, Picnicking, paddling and dipping in the Severn, When that fearsome turbid tide recedes, And there are the twopenny deckchairs, And there, the bicycle-stalls and donkey rides, The paddling pool and the Water Carnivals, The Bathing Beauty contests, the Seaside Revues, And the celebrated Dance Competitions, Are they doing the Lambeth Walk along the shingle sands? But look. There’s still more to see at Severn Beach: Rollercoasters, swing-boats, and roundabouts, The Ghost Train, dodgems, crazy golf, And the boating lake: (There were...