It’s an absolutely awful shame
There aren’t more women like old Elaine
Pulling pints was what she did
When my mates and I were spotty kids
To quench our thirsts and keep us sane
I’m sure she must have known we’d been
Not much older than sixteen
In her pub she’d sell us beer
As in our minds we’d always fear
That proof of age had to be seen
Her beady eye and Yorkshire charm
Meant there was always peace and calm
A place quite safe to go and drink
Each Friday night, no need to think
Much further than the Cricketers’ Arms
As long as we did nothing bad
Like fight or swear to drive her mad
She’d let us chat and joke and smoke
But we’d keep tight-lipped whenever she spoke
As if for the night she’d become our dad
The youth today must find it hard
As from the pub they’re always barred
So instead for fun they find the need
To drink cheap cider, smoke their weed
In parks, bus shelters and graveyards
Some kids rob, some use cocaine
While the powers that be don’t have the brains
To see these youngsters’ mindless crimes
Might be prevented much of the time
If they’d only give us more Elaines
Photograph: This isn’t Elaine but a woman I met many years after I knew Elaine and who reminded me of her a bit.