|Issue 7 - July 1972|
|...And Leave The Gypos Here|
sore transmogrified, as every one may see,
But what they've duen is nowt to what they still intend t'de'.
There still remains some sonsy spots, pure relics of our ancient features,
Of which our canny town shall brag, while gyestheed boasts sand beaters!
'Tis said they mean to clear away the houses in The Side,
So wrote Gilchrist in 1842, what the aa'd poet'y might say of the poor toon nuw, a'd dreed ti think. Weel might a body cry at the terrible things and sights o' th'toon being dadded and crashed aboot wa ears.
Be'in a Gyestheed lad me sell, a was reet skittled on retuornin frem me exile in Yorkshire an'ly ti see, whey, not that thi wes 'oot ti see like, what thi' hed duen ti thi toon. Th whole bliddy place pulled doon, not a brick upon brick, instead a flaimin gret runway an a set o' Azteck temples. Other places get scurted aroond an kept clean, but nor, not Gyestheed, slap bang threw th middle. An Aa'd feller sey's tiv is: "Son, its not ca'aled Gyestheed ney me'r, for thats a'l guen, knocked doon, its ca'led th bliddy M1 nuw.
Each an ivory time a'h cum hyem, its the syme, a little bit mer an a little bit mer. Each time a'h think, it must be th last, thi'l not pull ney mer doon surely? But sure enough th bastards aa'l'us find anouther little piece thi'v missed forst time roond, an knock thu begger fli'in next time.
For God's sake lad's dinnat mention ney place what we Geordies love in yor paper, for as sure as shit, thi'l read it and gaan an knock it doon. Thi want nowt left stannin that wi like or whats any gud tiv wi'.
Not se' vary lang ago's a mind stanin in th toon, luekin aboot' is an thinkin, this is it, thi's ney where in the wo'orld like this, th toon, Newcassil. Nuw, what, stan an luek aboot ye's, wi cud be in Birmingham, London, or and bloody-where-else those beggers have been tei, thiv myed it a'l the syem, from top ti bottom o'th country, one horrible, faceless, concreat, glass ££££ sign for them and bugger a'l for us.
Th'a knockin doon ivory thing wi love, nuw an again thiv knocked doon som thin wi dinnind lyke, but that wes an'ly so thi cud get at one o' was favorite places, an thors ney doot, th rotten micey place what th knocked doon will be built up again an'ly mer micey than th forst one. Us Geordie folk dinnat want that monstrocitys an am dam sure th folks doon sooth divand want their's ne'vor. Let thim tak tha 'model citys' ontiv an island somewhere and glass an concrete tha sells intiv oblivion.
Wey aye; wiv got'ta hev progress, but whey for? Progress hes got'ta be for the people by the people, not in spite of wi. That kind of progress can an'ly be got when we th people control the country. Wi'l keep a'al thu things wi lyke and re-build other things. Only a socialist system can dey that. An for that, wi'v a'al gotta work, join in th struggles at work, help impell the workers to smash the capitalist state before th concrete and oceans and put wi a'al under glass. Tek the hammers oota tha hands, thiv proved themselves incapable of runnin th wo'rld in the interests of humanity. A'al they care aboot is profit and their profit is wor loss, luek aboot yi's yi'l sharp see its reet what a'h say.
Trouble is lads, how much destruction are th gaan ti reap on wi, before wi a'al rise in revolt. Seems ti me that a Tyneside Republican Army wad'nt gan amiss. We'd send the beggers flieing back ower the Darlington border.
Hawa lads lets myek a fitht o'n'y, forward th wo'rkers, onward ti victory, on wi'l a'al gaan an the wo'rld will be free!