Here’s one from the archives; we do not know when it was written by Dorothea Carter and Gwen Jensen. The reference to Lotto Loot might provide a clue
It says at the top of the page: To Be Sung to the Tune of This Old House
This old hall is getting creaky
60 years on Cortes shores
We have toilets without handles
And a pathway to the doors.
Many folks have shared our good times
We’ve survived snow rain and sleet
And when dawn breaks we all know it
By the blisters on our feet.
We’re agonna use this hall a long time
we’re agonna dance on thru’ the night
And we’ll rock and roll and polka
Til the early morning light.
Oh, we’ll think of all the old folks
And the younger ones as well,
And we’ll know that they’re all dancing
Here in heaven or down in hell.
We have dreamed about a new floor
No more spikes or muddy boots.
Willie Two Shoes did not help us
We’ve not asked for Lotto loot.
but the Island folks have rallied
And our night life will be gay
Raise a glass to Cortes dancers
Who have come to swing and sway.
We’re agonna use this hall a long time
We’re agonna dance on thru the night
And we’ll rock and roll and polka
‘Til the early morning light.
Oh we’ll think of all the old folks
And the younger ones as well
And we’ll know that they’re all dancing
Here in heaven or down in hell.
The Author of the poem below is unknown
THE GORGE HALL IN ’83 — LET IT BE, YEAH, LET IT BE Dirty feet, dervishes whirling, armpits flinging high Tie-dyed cotton, rayon, batik. Velvet thin as a sigh. Curly kids on tricycles tossed from wall to wall By the frenzied leaping antics of the crazies in the hall. Toddlers learning retail, babes in tattered slings, Teenagers doing dishes, or sent on stage to sing. Frizzled beards and beaded braids, crying a refrain, Rip Van Winkles and cookie monsters, wound up again. David on the sound board, Gordie on the keys, Elmer with accordion resting on his knees. Sweat stained headbands, spiritual beads, Friendship bracelets, African seeds. Plenty of touching, plenty of hugs, drinking homemade ` Moonshine from spidery community mugs. Who could tell? Smoke free and guilt free and free to drink my fill. I could outsmoke you any day and grow better shit too. Pass me that no·bigger-than—a-piece-of—snot toke and watch My eyes turn blue. The Gorge Hall is a heck of a blast when a good loud band Brings ghosts of the past. Halloween, Christmas, Easter -always perfect décor Yendor in his bell bottoms, Lee dressed up even more. People dressed like sunflowers, some made up like gnats Joan cranky in the kitchen, ridding it of rats. Doug and Jessie are moving? Organize the tea Will Edith lend her special cups? Ask Bev to go and see. Velma typing island news, Garry toting freight Kevin in his wedding best, showing off his mate. Didgeridoo and opera, Shakespeare and Punch Phone the ladies quickly, First Aid Class needs some lunch! Santa driving goats tonight, where’s the stable hand? Santa’s pretty drunk now, he’s glad to be on land! Peggy in her glory, judging Easter bonnets The Writer’s Club so nervous, reciting all their sonnets. Gordon sketching floor plans, Hutch scanning two by fours Belly dancers decorating, hiding all the doors. Kelly lip-synching beautifully, looking like Munroe Watching Lisa's ballets, sitting dutifully in rows. Morgan carrying stage props, Vicki with marionettes. Winkles stepping in lemon pies, Norma painting sets. Art arranging speakers for piano, fiddle or horn Howie building bunk beds for the latest to be born. Emma in the flea market, flogging Holly’s antique doll (oops!) Pat’s huge bag of popcorn, that didn’t sell at all Reading for our grand opening, Bill Ballentyne, humorous soul . Doug and his creative outhouse - and fancy bar porthole.
Presidents too numerous, too serious, too tired,
Spending hours at their meetings, going home inspired. Except for President Andy, ruling like a toff Asking our opinions, then cutting us all off- Those constitution changes should certainly be read but, say folks, at this late hour l should be home in bed!" " So bugger off!" , Quilts and other crafts. put together with care Were afternoon endeavours that became too rare. New presidents, new skills, new days, old dril s. Hide the key, light the stove, buy a real till! No events or miracles — hall is in the red!l? No liquor, no kids, the cops will hover instead? “Install a toilet, fire doors, fix those antique pipes" That all sounded well and good, but costly, cripes! Men crawling underneath — "floor joists I thee renounce-" (But if we shore them up too much, we just won’t get that bounce! Golf carts, weight rooms, plastic playground stuff? Creeks and alders, big fir limbs, remain, for our kids, enough. Babies pick up cones and rocks and lunch on bits of bark Mothers smile fondly, but reality is stark - " Not so long` ago these mothers were the wees -- the fathers were the naughty thugs throwing things from trees. The Hall is growing old - but talk of its demise Brings renewed rhetoric and hackles on the rise. The Browns, the Blacks, the Robertsons and Many willing Hands Put together this old girl on gladly donated lands. The hapless President who is forced to close her doors Better have a food supply and hefty set of oars. Surely someone will have the answer Thought up some stormy night When the hydro fails and we mull On the edge of dim lamplight Until then, call the bands - Phone for pot luck food — When the weekend rolls around Everyone’s in the mood For the Gorge!