Steetley’s gone in ‘81

No more chimney, no more dust,
No more kilns which stand and rust,
No more smoke to cover the village,
No more lorries to spew out spillage,
No more noises which made sleepless nights,
Like shunting engines with flashing lights,
No more quarry – just one big hole,
Now being filled with ash from coal,
No more men with cheery faces,
Who walked to work from various places,
Paths they trod are no longer there,
Hawthorn bushes are everywhere,
The quarry banks once loved by all
Is now a mess – with no paths at all,
Perhaps one day we’ll think and stare,

Steetley’s gone – the village is bare.