On summer Sundays as a boy 
I caught the train at the junction
A stones throw from where The 'dodger' ran
And vied again to keep my place with  anglers laden 
With creels, reels and all things Piscatorial

In between rows of porters trolleys
Stood end on end  the melle began in earnest
The 'anglers special' from Erdington was on its way
Stopping at Kings Norton for a change that day 
For after all this was high summer
Special so I heard them say  
June 16th every year 
Start of the Course fishing season
Certainly no reason to stay abed and think of girls

Past Soho and Smethwick, Cradley Heath and Lye
And I know not why they changed  the engines at Stourbridge
For there they hitched a Castle class
In British railways classic green gleaming and clean
To take the extra strain of the branch line train
From Wolverhampton and beyond
Extra coaches to take the throng of angling's equivelant
Of Superbowl or cup final day 

Along the branch line the tenders shunted
Even though we all wanted them to hurry up
Lets be gone, the days abroad
Let us find Sabrinas fords At Arley
Much later on in the 70's it became known
As barbel alley or mad mile to bring a smile
As the barbulled ones multiplied
But now on Sunday morning tide
Of anglers one and all taking the ride 
To  Bewdley, Northwood Halt, Arley and Hampton loade
Just where the country station road
Led down to the ferry.

No need to worry but please boys hurry
Join the mad dash down to the river
Even in summer one might shiver
If someone takes your fishing spot
Before you get there
Push and shove heavens above
Hurry up over that style
Still a full laden mile to that ford
With hoards of 'Brummies' thinking the same
Knowing the game of fast water fishing
In summers heat , there is nothing to beat it

In those days the halcyon time 
Just after the war waiting for my father
To come home from demobilisation
There were  no cars to clog the roads
And toads crossed over in safety
And if you went a courting you did so on your bike
Took a hike and went to church on sunday
Listened to the Sermon from the spiritual mount
Actually it was a carved pulpit and I became so dry
I couldm't spit on a tanner yet minded my manner
And listed to the doom laden words
Of Canon A.V.Hurley the Archdeacon of Dudley
A little bit cuddly but words to set you shivering
Though shalt not steal neither covet thy neighbour house 
Nor any mouse he has therin
Though shall not sin!
Well I knew that but where could i begin

Thou shalt not covet thy neighbours wife
Neither lust for his daughter rather take more water
And I guess more or less since you come to say it.
I do after all remember where I left  my bike  
Hot Summer Sundays dont care about Mondays
Dreaming of angling and latter day wrangling
And knowing some day there would be you