On Garston Beach
Gillian Floyd

Pyramids In Garston
Gillian Floyd

A Garston Lad
Kevin Keegan

Garston
Kenny Parry

Garston
I was brought up in a place where everybody knew your face
And the time of day was something we all had.
There were no locks on the doors, and what we had was yours, and we had nothing, but times were't so bad.
There were Banks Road sausages, and C of E cracked eggs
And up the cinder path was holy trinity. (holy tripe)
Games of footy in the street, no motor cars under your feet
Now the blessed things are all you see.

Down in Garston, Garston, gods little acre, under the bridge.
Garston, Garston, and growing up there was my priviledge.

There was twenty seven pubs, chippies, shops and social clubs And a cemetry to visit when you die.
From the Raglan to the Blue, and the old Woodcutters too,
And you daren't go in meredies with a tie (they'd cut it off)
The old "H" entry will be missed its were we had our first kiss
Adolescent, pre-pubescent teenage dreams,
But the good times never last' and we grew up much too fast
Precious golden leaves, floating down the stream.

Down in Garston, Garston, gods little acre, under the bridge.
Garston, Garston, and growing up there was my priviledge.

Out with the gang down the old cast iron shore, we'd come home covered in mud
me mum would scream "get them feet off me floor" we were black from head to toe, but it felt good
Saturday we'd go up to the village, to the Empire or Sixpenny Lyceum,
See hopalong and "Hi ho Silver!" all the western heroes on the silver screen.

Down in Garston, Garston, gods little acre, under the bridge.
Garston, Garston, and growing up there was my priviledge.

Now the scallies they drive through, in their BMW's
they must have saved up, all year long
and though the old ways may have gone, the spirit still lives on,
and we can all re-live the memories in a song

Down in Garston, Garston, gods little acre, under the bridge.
Garston, Garston, and growing up there was my priviledge.