THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

A new page for the DOOMSDAY book

By Richard Beckett

NEWHAVEN’S REGENERATION? I DO NOT THINK SO

FURTHER DEGENERATION MORE LIKELY

In days of old in this fair town. The children played and romped around,

The bad old days we thought were past. The good days looked as if to last,

But now the future's looking grim. They want to let the rubbish in,

The Sussex Planners let us down. They do not care about our town

For soon will come the Rubbish cart. The rubbish burning soon will start.

So rancid fumes will fill the air. And on still days will just lie there.

Not cool and tranquil mist of old. Spread oe’r the town so damp and cold

But a putrid fetid choking gown. UNMOVING, grey or deadly brown.

From far and wide will lorries come. From Brighton, Hove and places.

So we can breathe the filthy fumes. They don’t want in THEIR faces.

No, we must suffer, and we will. The selfishness of them.

For to us who live in this small town. This fetid air they condemn

Regeneration of the Town they say. On that I would not bet.

A life of putrid air we’ll breathe. Both day and night we’ll get.

For can’t they see that it will bring. Upon the town it’s doom.

Who’ll want to live and work and breathe. In daily deadly gloom?

Beneath a blanket of bad air. But they’re not here So they don’t care,

For them Newhaven is fair game. To them Newhaven’s just a name

A place where all their rubbish goes. As long as they've not got.

A burner large in their back yard. They couldn’t care a jot,

And once the deadly burner’s built, Then we will live ‘neath deadly quilt.

And die from breathing all those fumes, That o’er our little town now looms

Richard Beckett