Remembering John Griffiths: forever an Amble lad
John Griffiths was born in May 1937 and sadly passed away just short of his 89th birthday.
He was born on the corner of Newburgh Street and Leslie Drive just a short step from Trinity Methodist Church and he started there at the age of five.
He did well at Amble Modern School and became Head Boy in his final year. He began work as a plasterer with Harker and Cuthbertson and spent all his working life in the building trade.
He was a quiet man, but very observant, what he saw around him came out in his poetry. He wrote about everyday things in local dialect, and if you want to know about life in Amble in his time, there is a wealth of history and sentiment contained in his poem’s. (But you will need to brush up on the local dialect if you want to understand them.) For those who are interested copies of his poems can be viewed at Curiosity Corner.
(See below for his poem An Amble Lad used as a meditation at his funeral)
He will also be remembered for his performances as pantomime dame in the Methodist pantomimes. John dedicated many years working with young people in the Junior Guild. The Guild was the place to go back in the day. They got up to all sorts of things, games, outings, quizzes, jigsaw marathons, fund raising and of course the pantomimes.
John was a staunch Methodist, first at Trinity and when it closed, at the church in High Street, coming back to Trinity when it reopened. He served for 40 plus years as a Steward, later becoming a Circuit Steward. He also looked after their finances as treasurer. When Trinity was remodelled he was there to lend a hand with the refurbishment.
He was married to Margaret and they spent 64 happy years together. They had two children, Leslie and Sandra.
Margaret said, “He was a lovely man, and I’m pleased that I had him to share in my life.”
John will be greatly missed by friends and family, and particularly by the folk at the Friendly Café and those who lived around him, because he was always on hand to help out with odd jobs like mowing lawns.
At his funeral, donations were collected for Amyloidosis Research. This is a rare condition that clogs up the organs, and John was afflicted by it in his later years.
Vivienne Dalgliesh
An Amble Lad
Noo aam right proud and aam really glad
That I was born an Amble lad
Cos aa love the harbour, the shore and the sea
And Amble will ellwes be hyem ti me.
Amble’s where aa forst saw the light o’day
And aa hope aa’ll nivvor hev ti shift away.
O ye’ll see bonnier places aa’ve nea doobt
If ye hev a mind ti travel aboot
As lang as aa’m back on top o’ the Wynd at the nd o’ the day
Cos nae matter where aa roam or ramble
Aa like ti come back ti bonny aad Amble.
There is some folks shift of their own free will
They think the grass’ll be greener yon side o’ Gloster Hill
But mind! They’re back for their holidays ivvory year
Cos it doesn’tmatter where they gan
They ellwes come back ti Amble when ivvor they can
Ye see when folks gan ti live in foreign parts
They find oot that Amble is written on their hearts
Just like yon sticks of holiday rock
Amble’s stamped right through them
From the top o’ their heed, to the hole in their sock.
So where ivvor they end up or happen to be,
They still belong ti Amble doon by the sea.
Hoo can anybody forget a single Amble lad or lass
That they went ti school wi and wor in your class,
Them’s folk ye’ll ellwes remember ye see
Where ivvor ye live or whatever ye de.
Amble’s such a little friendly place
That there’s ellwes somebody who remembers ya face.
And when ya walk doon Queen Street
Ya bound ti hev a crack wi somebody ye meet
A young’n or aad’n or a husband or wife,
Folks that’s knawn ye aal ye life.
Hoo really de want ti knaa
Hoow ya gittin on’ because they care.
A nighbor, or relation or an aad mate
A hoose, a street or a garden gate
A back lane or a yard door
The harbour, pier or the Little Shore,
They’re all things ye caall hyem
An nea matter where ye gan, there’s neawhere else quite the same.
Aye, nea matter what anybody thinks,
Aa still enjoy a waalk alang the links
And nivvor ivvor get ma fill
O’ that view o’ the Coquet from the top o’ Gloster Hill,
With the Warkworth shore and Alnmouth bay
The sun setting ower the Cheviot at the end o’ the day.
Theer’s not a place on God’s earth
Owt like bonny aad Amble, the town o’ ma birth
And aa pray ivvory night
I’ll stay in the beam o’ the Coquet Light,
Cos Amble is and ellwes will be
The finest place in the world ti me.
By John Griffiths
