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.