Passing trade was a Victorian phrase

That was coined in less hectic days

When deliveries came on horse-drawn drays

And the people shopped in different ways

It described pedestrians, with time to gaze

At witty, or clever, window displays


But this is an age of internal combustion

With narrow streets and traffic congestion

Where clocks rule and time flees

Whilst drivers decry high parking fees

With lorries full of replacement stock

Or loads of steel, heading for the dock


But tourists on the A52, heading east

While driving a car, or camper beast

Are holiday makers, with a single aim

Get to the coast, and stake a claim

To fun and frolic, sun, sea and sand

At Skeggie, Butlins or Fantasy Island


With targets selected and sat-navs locked-on

Who spares a thought for grid-locked Boston

The solution a by-pass, speeding traffic on its way

To ease local congestion and make tourism pay

The county recoiled at thought of the cost

And local business worried about custom lost


But it is destinations that people head to

Elsewhere is just a place to get through

So, after hour upon hour of go and stop

No-one leaves a queue to go and shop

In this day-and-age the link should be made

There is no such thing as Passing Trade!

RT November ’14