18 FEBRUARY 1966, Page 19

Derry City

The guns still poke out of decaying walls, Though trained on nothing, remembering the past.

Sentinel over lost glories stands the Guildhall, The tiny city seems crumbling into the mist.

Look for a centre—office-blocks, chain stores? No, Simply churches and bars studding blind streets, Staffed only by patched men with nowhere to go Or people in shops who glance up at your feet.

Past the 'Swan,' the 'Eagle'—blind pubs that won't fly—

I slog up to the station, getting wet, Going past, always past this frontage of decay: The siege of Derry is not lifted yet.

PHILIP HOBSBAUM