Memories make my stomach dive deep, as I drive through the Leeds city centre side streets.

My stomach dives deep as I drive through the streets
Looking at buildings with histories long.
Grey pavements, grey skies
Red bricks and wall tiles.
Back-to-back terraces, regimented, stand straight
with rooms stacked up steep, to the heavens they reach.
Wrought iron gates, half never locked
Let out the grumble of stories from generations now lost.

Walking up side streets, flagstones my grandmother tread.
Above strung on pulleys, washing lines hang, drying the whites, across streets blowing bright.
Smells of teatime drift from doors left ajar, whilst kids play out endlessly with knees grazed and scarred.

Lasses in slippers, boast housecoats and pinnys, lay elbows on low walls and yak idle chat, echoes of truths mixed up in the gas.

With new generations take the blame, but really no difference from some older claims, swap woodbines for spliffs, it’s somehow the same.

Sneaking out nightly and up to no good. Hitching rides with the milk float which rattles on past. Morning has broken the dawn didn’t last.
Slip though the sash windows, avoiding floorboards that squeak, not waking up Father as he’s fast asleep.

My red brick Leeds throws back memories deep
My red brick Leeds in tradition it’s steeped
My red bricks walls throwback warmth from the sun
My red brick Leeds shared with generations yet to come.

SKB