A poem by Peter Sellar

Past the ‘Pool’ where a’ the seamen went to stamp their Union card.
Courting in ‘back entries’ where we cuddled, and we kissed,
The day I started smoking fags, and the first time I got pissed.
A pint o heavy in the Jungle’, by the brig doon at the Shore
Men all lined up at the ‘broo’, now gone, thank god, no more!
Along Tollbooth, to the Kirkgate, past the graveyard in ‘South Leith’,
Where many Leither’s lie at rest. Just bones and some auld teeth.
The matinee’s in Laurie Street then up the Restalrig’s,
Then along the road to Hawkhill, near the home ground of the Hibs.
Doon Easter Road tae Duke Street, jist at the fit-o-the-Walk,
Stands Queen Vickie’s statue, where men jist spit, and talk.
They shout at a’ the lassies “ye hae a bonnie leg”,
And when the lassies shout right back, it brings them ‘doon a peg’.
Smith and Bowman all in gold, by the ‘Palace’ dancing hall,
Playing ‘wee heedies’ on a wall wi a ‘Woollies ‘tanner baw’
Up the Walk, through the ‘hole-in-the-wa’, but the Cappie’s, now long gone,
Where every week on Sunday night, Leith’s talent sang their song.
Along the street stands the ‘Alabam’, where a sit an tak a rest,
Remembering the matinees, where ‘Tom Mix’ beat the best.
Then a saunter along Great Junction Street, past Rankin’s ‘chipped fruit’,
Stoddart’s the undertakers where they laid ‘deed Leither’s oot’.