Paul Robeson and Porthcawl

by Phil Knight

On a windswept night in fifty-seven,
The Grand Pavilion filled with pride,
Five thousand voices waited,
For a voice from across the ocean wide.

Not there in flesh, but in spirit strong,
Paul Robeson's voice rang clear and true,
Across the Atlantic's roaring miles,
He sang for Wales, for me and you.

His passport seized, his freedom chained,
By those who feared the truth he spoke.
In Wales, Robeson was remembered,
The ties of solidarity would not be broke.

For years before, on a London street,
He'd heard a Welsh miners' chorus rise,
And knew their fight, their pain, their pride,
That echoed in their fearless cries.

From Show Boat fame to protest's call,
He gave his art to those in need,
Singing for the downtrodden souls,
With every song, he planted a seed.

The miners knew he stood with them,
From Neath to Aberdare, they'd seen,
A bond that weathered storm and time,
In struggle shared, their hopes redeemed.

Then came the day his voice returned,
In Porthcawl's hall, across the phone.
A concert for workers by Paul Robeson,
In a land that was his spiritual home.

And when his passport was returned,
He crossed the seas, to Welsh applause,
A symbol of the fight for peace,
Of human rights, and just cause.

And though the years may pass us by,
The echoes of that night remain,
When across the world, one man's voice
Sang of freedom again and again.