Dave Cohen

A POEM mourning the loss of a string of well-loved independent stores is creating a comic buzz in Crouch End.

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Stand-up comedian and writer Dave Cohen, a resident of Crouch End for more than 16 years, has written a mocking lament on the changing face of The Broadway in the style of a famous war poem.

It highlights the loss of Prospero’s Bookshop, which shut on Christmas Eve, Woolworths, Word Play and The Creamery, while pointing the finger of blame on big named chain stores taking over the high street.

He said: “I often use Crouch End in my shows, including two documentaries I’ve made for BBC Radio 4, and the death of the high street is a topic I feel strongly about.

“Yes, it’s specifically about Crouch End, but it could be anywhere.”

He added that he has been pleased with the response from residents, who agree with the sentiment. He may even perform the work at his next show at the King’s Head on February 1.

The 62-line poem, which also references familiar Crouch End landmarks like Dunns Bakery, ends in a rallying call to the “hippies”, “actors” and their “pram-pushing friends” to campaign to save the locally-run stores.

It is written in the style of the famous Second World War poem by social activist Martin Niemoller, which opens with the line: “In Germany, they came first for the Communists, and I didn’t speak up.”

A CROUCH END POEM

When they came for The Creamery, I did not speak out

Because I already have too much cholesterol, and gout.

When they came for Word Play, I had a tiny blub,

But now I buy kids’ stuff from Rub A Dub

When they came for Just Natural, actually shouted hooray

At the passing of yet another overpriced cafe

But now Prospero’s Books is closing down

And I wonder what’s happening to Crouch End town

When they came for Woolworths,

I did not speak out,

Cos frankly, Woolworths was not yer typical shop

That Crouch End is about.

Plus for several years they’d been in pretty bad shape

I’d been in lots of times but only bought sellotape.

And in a Crouch End irony worthy of Shakespeare’s great prose

Proletarian Woolworths became Crouch End Waitrose.

Powerhouse Electrics long since shed

Though preserved both in ‘Peep Show’ and ‘Shaun of the Dead’

But now we’re losing Prospero’s staff

To – would you believe it – another new caff.

When they came for All Bar One,

The former clothes and flowers and sports shop

It didn’t particularly strike

Me as sad, anyway it’s Wetherspoons now, so like for like.

The new Marks and Spencer didn’t make joy immenser

(though if I ever run out of cocktail sausages I know where to go)

And when they opened Lupa, I didn’t cry ‘super!’

Especially since I’ve learned to make pizza dough

But now that Prospero’s is going for good

Keep thinking ‘I should have bought more books from there. I should.’

I’ve come to love any shop not a café or hairdresser or estate agent her

Even grown accustomed to the purveyor of Italian chandelier

Our eclectic emporia remain in terminal decline

Until you can get a coffee, a haircut or a two bed flat online

Unless… as sure as the recession hammers on

We could start by occasionally boycotting Amazon

Our own small purchasing decisions won’t force them to close

And although we won’t get back Prospero’s

Perhaps we can cling to shops not found elsewhere

By going offline and shopping right there.

“So what?” you may say, to this appeal-to-consumer whimsy

From a middle-class, middle-aged Middle Lane nimby.

“It’s just a few shops closing down, why the fuss?

“There’s a Prospero’s one ride off, on the W7 bus.

“Books are a luxury, no wonder they’ve gone

“Or haven’t you noticed there’s a recession on?”

Well yes, but it ain’t stopping here

Coming next the library and swimming pool I fear

Priory Park and Stationers too

For our kids nothing to do

Slashed-to-bits Haringey will look fondly to past days

When Baby P was a one-off, an awkward phase.

Thought we had cosseted prosper-us immunity

Until this three-pronged attack on our community.

Global corps, internet, now government too

Have declared war on localism, seems there’s nought we can do.

So come on you hippies, you media dears

You actors, and rockers with singing careers

Professionals, journos, that man with two sons

Who’s sure he saw Dylan buy a bloomer from Dunns

Lady in leggings and your pram-pushing friend

Our fight starts today against the end of Crouch End