Clipstone's Headstocks

I remember a time when this was busy.
This was a community as community's were,
Where the houses were more than homes,
And the streets walked you into their heart.

I remember the bad old Eighties,
This place fought in that year-long war.
Where families were divided by law and union,
Where anger and fear all played their part.

I remember the greed and the treachery,
As I recall we must let some things rest.
The inevitable closures and job losses,
The promise to each man of a new start.

I remember the supply's never endless,
And all things must soon come to pass,
But some things must be a monument:
History must stand steel-strong and smart.

I remember we live for all ages,
As I drive past the ghost of my youth.
I hope they spare Clipstone's great headstocks.
They are not machines, they are art.