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A wonder to many journalists
In the days when Britain was
great
Was the number of Dockyard cyclists
Coming out of Unicorn Gate.
This highly irregular force
Of cycles and men were so large
It
was nicknamed "The Dockyard Light Horse,"
For it looked like a cavalry
charge.
There were cycles of every hue
And many of various
makes;
Some had a mudguard of two
A few of them even had
brakes.
Pedestrians took headlong dives,
But drivers would
blanch;
Strong men ran for their lives
From this human
avalanche. |
Tourists came from miles around
To see this awesome sight -
Massed Dockyard wheelers homeward bound
At noon and also at
night.
Mothers gathered their offspring
And took them to safety
for
They knew the sound of the hooter would bring
This ravening horde
past their door.
A Dockyard cyclist was able
Or so old wives would
recount
To get to his dining room table
Without having to
dismount.
His wife would open the door
And then stand well to one
side
And without his feet touching the floor
Straight up the passage
he'd ride.
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You could do to him what you thought fit,
You could curse
him all you like;
But the worse crime you could commit
Was to kick a
dockey's old bike.
The work force has dwindled of course,
The
Empire is now no more,
The ranks of "The Dockyard Light Horse"
Has been
thinned to just a few score.
Now only memories remain
And they fill
me with remorse
For never will I see again
"The Charge of the Dockyard
Light Horse".
R L Seagar, Francis Avenue, Southsea |