Even Prompter

The Alvis

The Alvis

There on the Holyhead Road,
down by the Sherbourne
where the allotments climb the steep bank,
the supermarket spreads its asphalt:
four square and comfortable it sits,
proud of its brave tomorrow.

There, too, is the ghost of Alvis,
builder of fine cars,
clean of line and elegant living,
the factory crouched low but wide,
self-effacing in its drab colours,
the wartime camouflage still peeling
from its flanks,
machine sounds muted by the old brick walls.

Long gone, this hallowed hall,
extended shed where masterpieces were wrought,
the most beautiful of all
the last dying attempt to survive,
a saloon of perfect grace and style,
too good for the harsher world that followed.

The craftsmen now are gone,
dispersed, deceased, forgotten,
but the last remnant saved the plans,
the drawings and designs,
passed them on to others
and, at last, to money and good taste,
and now the last Alvis, shining bright,
can ride the roads again.


Line count: 28
Free verse
For Promptly Poetry, Week 36 2022
Prompt: Write a poem about a ghost.
Note: In Coventry, once the centre of Britain’s car industry, the factories of the various makes were always described by the name of the marque. For five years I worked at the Morris, on the other side of town, but every day I passed the Alvis on my way to work. When the company was forced to close and sell the factory, a supermarket was built in its place. But I will always remember it as the home of one of the prettiest cars ever produced in the UK. When the car industry collapsed and the remnants sold off to foreigners, a core of knowledge and skill was lost in those workers who never again had the chance to do what they did so well. For some of us, however, the ghosts of those factories will live forever.