A WOMAN “born and bred” in Rhyl has shared a poem she wrote about the town she loves and grew up in.

Chloe Taylor, 56, has written poetry for a number of years, and felt compelled to share the poem in light of Rhyl being ranked the worst of Britain’s seaside towns by The Telegraph on March 17.

She moved away from Rhyl in 1999 due to work and now lives in Stoke-on-Trent, but Chloe still regularly returns to the town, with many of her relatives still based there.

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Chloe, who works in financial services, said: “The poem that I wrote about Rhyl, everyone seems to have loved that, and has said how it brought memories back.

“It’s about being positive, not negative. I’ve no time for negative people.

“My nan had a bed and breakfast in Aquarium Street for years when I was a child, my uncle had a butchers in Abbey Street, and my dad worked on the amusements and ran pubs there.

“I come back as often as I can. I left for work, but I miss Rhyl. I want to move back eventually.”

Chloe runs a number of groups on Facebook, including her own private poetry page, “Pubs and Clubs of Sunny Rhyl and Neighbouring Towns, Past and Present”, and “Sunny Rhyl and District Amusements and Fairgrounds of the Past and Present”.

You can read Chloe’s poem in full below:

I miss the smell of donuts, the funfair and the sights,

The arcades and the bingo, the Dixieland at night,

Fish and chips in newspaper, no Maccy Ds in sight.

The smell of fried onions and burgers on a griddle,

My mates on the waltzers, all on the fiddle.

The sound of the ocean, the beach beneath my toes,

The seagulls and the holidaymakers, the smell of Greasy Joe’s.

Dancing in the Downtown, smiling, having fun,

Dancing on the balcony in the rain and the sun.

The Morville's sticky carpet and the bistro and the Queens,

Thinking back today, it’s longer than it seems.

Denis, Ken and Brenda, a very lovely bunch,

My dad on the bingo, and a 20-minute lunch.

Sticks of rock aplenty, and deckchairs on the prom,

Now there's nothing left; it's all knocked down and gone.

But I can close my eyes and think of better times,

Jumping Jacks, Les Harkers, and people on the rides.

The Black Cat on the corner, with bacon on the grill,

Jo and Stella’s burgers; the best by far in Rhyl.

There was Aladdin's Cave and the legend, Stuart Tong,

When all was right, but now it's all gone wrong.

Tattoo parlours and market stalls,

Video games and bingo balls,

Candy floss and donkey rides,

The bowling alley and big blue skies.

The Schooner and The Buccaneer,

Drink was cheap, but now it's dear.

‘Cause once upon a time ago,

Sunny Rhyl was the place to go.

A place of laughter, a place of fun.

Where my life, my life began.

A Sunday roast in Shepherd’s or breakfast in the Grotto,

A wonderful place to live; it was like you had won the lotto.

A pint in The Marina or swift one in The Grange ,

Pity all is gone, pity all has changed.

A lock-in in The Cresent or playing pool with my dad,

By far the best times, the best times I did have.

So have yourself a thrill, have a boat ride in Rhyl,

Have a drink in Rosie O’Grady’s, or Samuel Henry's grill.

My home town, I miss,

I miss sunny Rhyl.