Letter From a Northern Mother

Dear John, I’m writing you this letter because I’m wanting you to know,

From Rawmarsh down to Merlinbridge the lads and lasses miss you so.
Can you not get a house in Norton, instead of dashing to and forth?
Will you ever, will you ever, come back again up north?

And they built a brand new ASDA just beside your old abode;
Firms are springing up just like mushrooms down the length of Sheffield road.
Tears of joy would flow up and down the Humber, there’d be laughter in the rain,
Will you ever, will you ever come back up north again?

A Dalton couple won the lottery and the place is all hubub,
They’ll never spend their money; they’ll never get outside the pub a
And they cleaned that mucky riverbank and you have got your wish
And they flock there in there hundreds to see kingfishers and fish.

Peter Elliot’s slung his running shoes, the lad got badly hurt you know,
Life was getting far too easy for him, running past Sebastian Cole.
Sally Smith has never married and she’s looking pretty fair,
And she always asks about you, just how you are and where?

Sheffield had its student games, its super tram, you’ve never saw the like,
And they closed the libraries down to pay for it, the council caused a strike,
But life is still better in the north of England especially when you’re near,
And your mother signs this letter with a kiss and then a tear.