Does Walton Vale Know a Song of Me?

If I know a song of Walton Vale
Of the thunderous traffic noise, and its fumes,
Choking conversation.
Of the broken pavements,
And puddles, washed by tyres over pedestrians,
Does Walton Vale know a song of me?

If I know a song of Walton Vale
Boiling in the summer sun, with no shade,
Or in the winter time
In rain and snow and wind.
So many seasons’ cycles I have passed that way,
Does Walton Vale know a song of me?

Is there a memory of a small girl,
Running home from school on hot summer days,
To see if Dad is home?
Or of a young woman,
Walking to work in the bank, going home for lunch.
Does Walton Vale know that song of me?

And as a young mother with a pram
I shopped, and strolled and chatted every day.
Me, my Mother and child.
In prams, and then in hand,
My children went to my old school, and grew, and left.
Does Walton Vale know that song of me?

And when we’re older, Mother and I,
We spend another decade on the Vale.
Children gone to big school,
We keep our old routine.
New shops, new pavements, new barriers, and old friends.
Does Walton Vale know that song of me?

As child; then worker, mother, carer
Have my many footsteps left their echo?
And is my shadow there?
And my name remembered?
And does my voice still ring, above the traffic’s roar?
Does Walton Vale know a song of me?


By Ellen Grace Spears