Poem about the Plymouth Barbican
by Michael McCann

This place once of press gangs
Sailors, drunks and whores
And from where the Pilgrim fathers
Set sail from our shores

This place of Elizabethan garden
And buildings of many designs
That arose over the centuries
Reflecting different times

This place of Drake, Cook and Hawkins
And many more besides
Who left its shores for far of lands
On the ebbing of the tides

This place of Tolpuddle Martyr
And where they first stepped back
After three long years in exile
Is honoured in a plaque

This place a home to Plymouth Gin
And many pubs and Inns
Where the Navy, Queens and Dolphin
Still satisfy our sins

This place of moored up fishing boat
Harbourside and quay
Which offers old salts sanctuary
From the perils of the sea

This place of cobbled alleys
And many hidden nook
Roamed still by comic characters
Once sketched by Beryl Cook

This place of artist haunts
And where they ply their trade
Take a look on its streets
For something that they’ve made

This place of daily river cruising
And offshore pleasure trips
Abounds with night time revelry
And local fish and chips

This place is called the Barbican
And grew from Sutton town
Which to this day has become
A jewel in Plymouth’s crown