SRT,   SRT, what paraphernalia

SRT, SRT, came to these shores,                                                                                                                    From the land, of skyscrapers,  Kojak and whores.
Where men defied gravity sliding down rope
With racks & descenders, brown trousers & hope.
From the wastes of Montana to Mexico’ s sun
Men put on trusses and knots came undone,
The big pits were conquered, a new era was here
But in Yorkshire we laddered and drowned in our beer.
                   ***
SRT, SRT, blazed a new trail,
Rescuers shivered and novices paled.
The first ropes appeared in Polypropylene
And men who once “were” soon became “had been”.
But the technique had promise, one bottomed holes fast
Although blokes walked around dressed like TV masts.
Gadgets were knocked up in kitchens & sheds
And a certain K. Lewis saw his future ahead.
                   ***                                                                                                                        

SRT, SRT, it drugged me with fear
When at Alum one summer I borrowed some gear,
I was ninety feet up and thinking ‘Gee, how”.
When the chest-box burst open like in Batman, “Kappow”.                                                                             The doctor prescribed a lifeline and ladder
And a course of bitter to settle my bladder,
SRT’s a sensation and full of intrigue
But I still prefer ladders and metal fatigue.                                                                                                                 .                  ***
But SRT, SRT, has staked its claim
And ladders are rapidly falling from fame,
A round trip in Lost Johns takes only two hours
And the solitary sound is the rattle of bars.                                                                                              Gone the traditions of screaming “UP, UP’
And the effing & blinding when ladders get stuck
Gone getting Knackered on Long Kin West
And listening to novices pleading for rests.                                                                                         

                    ***
SRT, SRT, what paraphernalia
Cast, stainless and. anodised inter alia,
Gibbs clogs and jumars, jammers and shunts
Racks and rollers for all grades of stunts.
Low tensile matted eight platt three core,
Critical shock loads, you can’t ask for more.
The theory’s delightful with lots of flash words
Which in practice are used with imperative verbs.                                                             

                     ***
SRT, SRT, you are the new wave
Now any young punk can rappel into caves
With gay disregard for self preservation
With far less tackle & perspiration.
The challenge of continents opens wide
And the science of polymer technology applied,
To expeditions huge sums are paid
While I grovel in County with bucket & spade.                                                                  

                     ***
SRT, SRT, now I’ve had my say
And doubtless protagonists shall not be swayed
From hanging down holes on long slander threads
While we more level headed retire to our beds,
It’s not that we’re cholic or oven insane
But M.G.M. have the rights on Tarzan & Jane.
SRT you’re the champion, great things you have done
But you’ve scared the shit out of me and my mum.

H. St.Lawrence.

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