The misplaced grandeur fading with the second supertram, in a seedy corner of a once industry ravaged hellhole. In a lilac-tinted evening consuming time in a stripper-joint. The virgin landlord is selling smuggled Turkish tobacco. Lipstick stains on the glasses and stale perfume assualts the senses.
A former rear-gunner from Darnall is droning of strange days. There were back to backs, travellers and their horses tied to lampposts, fights, furnaces. poverty and death, The Don Valley Stadium lights blaze as children graze the raspberry canes. While shady men huddle in dark corners to smoke and conspire.
They have grown old and desperate too early. A passing vagrant gives directions to a better place and time and claims to be sorry but not for what. The 69 rattles a blue history plate on annomous red brick wall and the tram to Meadowhall is due in seven minutes.