This weekend marked Northern Soul‘s second birthday. To commemorate the occasion, Northern Soul‘s Poetry Correspondent Wendy Pratt has written this poem.

Northern Soul 

I’m the dull, soot-scarred smoke stacks,

a cobble, felt through a cheap plimsoll.

I’m Friday’s fish and chips, I’m the bacon fat

your mam used to fry with. I‘m the biting cold

of a South Shields wind. I’m kids playing out

on Coronation Street. I’m Ted Hughes tackling

Hardcastle Crags, a game of tag, a pint of stout.

I’m Life on Mars, Brideshead Revisited, I’m Cathy,

I’m Heathcliff, I’m all the Brontë sisters. I’m cold cuts,

I’m Kes. I am the miners’ strike. I’m hard work,

I’m Hillsborough. I’m Eyup! I’m not making a fuss,

I’m the one who won’t shut up. I’m mosques, I’m churches,

I’m hard as nails, no messing about, I’m heart of gold.

I’m moorland-industrial. I am the North in Northern Soul.