Starting in the BBC’s temporary studio in the Shambles, Stockton High Street, 29th July 2009, we hope to gather Stockton stories past and present and add them to our media map.
The stories can be anything from poems to anectodetes and can be in any form from pictures old and new, simple text, audio and video.
Please come back soon to see what gets added.
Frankie Vaughan at Stockton Globe
(by Maureen Almond)
Waist-high kicks learned behind the green door,
he’ll stroll out, straw boater tilted over his eyes,
then slow as the sun, his face will rise;
black hair shining like the wings of a crow.
Next, there’ll be deep half-laughs, half-gurgles
blended with a love song and lyric sighs,
his bobbing Adam’s apple will tease cries
from as far back as the last row of the circle.
A god, managing the shrine of night,
he is our omphalos of the world.
Dust babbles like a brook in his spotlight,
the Globe becomes the navel of the earth.
Pancake masks melt in the moonlight;
the rest left to him, we adore for all we’re worth.
(Oyster Baby, Pub. Biscuit, 2002 p.18)
Frankie Vaughan at Stockton Globe
(by Maureen Almond)
Waist-high kicks learned behind the green door,
he’ll stroll out, straw boater tilted over his eyes,
then slow as the sun, his face will rise;
black hair shining like the wings of a crow.
Next, there’ll be deep half-laughs, half-gurgles
blended with a love song and lyric sighs,
his bobbing Adam’s apple will tease cries
from as far back as the last row of the circle.
A god, managing the shrine of night,
he is our omphalos of the world.
Dust babbles like a brook in his spotlight,
the Globe becomes the navel of the earth.
Pancake masks melt in the moonlight;
the rest left to him, we adore for all we’re worth.
(Oyster Baby, Pub. Biscuit, 2002 p.18)
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