Washington's ancestral home in Dorset

 

The ancestors of George Washington resided at the Grange

whilst high above the burrow lay sleeping so high overhead

 

At the foot of the purbecks where pigeons did nest

where partridge and peacocks did dance to young maids

 

In the village of Creech where the brambles were deep

near warehams proud country with grass walls so steep

 

Where the blossoms grew rich and the zunners did play

not far from the harvests and the making of hay

 

The old house was built of rich purbeck stone

with the crest of the family in a place they called home

 

Where the USA crest gave birth to the free

where landed young gentry were rooted by sea

few know its history and its fight for the free

the cannons of Cromwell and the royalists pleas

 

Though its grounded in histories we've yet to recall

that the greatest of America was rich in its lore

 

The call to the brave and the crest on the wall

the family mottoes and the days that befall

the village of Creech with its twists and its turns

with its high burrow views so gifted and sworn.

 

 

DORSET TALES

 

 

Where thatch grew rich upon the downs

where as a child i bedded down

where rivers ran and streams did play

country proud and zunners gay

 

Where farmland stretched within the eye

where grass was long and trees were high

where lanes were twisting tales of life

where birds and vixen spent their nights

 

Where cock did crow and gals did chase

across the heath where kisses saved

 

There neath the boughs where blossoms bloomed

they chased the girls for afternoons

where church bells sounds and forest woke

to sunshine leaves and farmers jokes

 

Where inns were rich in course n tones

where ale was drunk and debts were loaned

across these lands of farming folk

the village idiot once eloped

 

Within the shades of oak and birch

the milkmaid with the lads would converse

tales were told and songs were sung

along the purbeck hills left wondering

 

Where tanks now haunt the countryside

once was a gem of life abide

the past is just a treasure trove of memories

of flying geese and summers breeze

 

Where dartford warblers sang each morn

sand lizards scurried across warehams high lawns

the river frome could tell a tale

once frozen over afore the sale.

 

THE BLACK BEAR HOTEL

 

 

As a child i lived in the black bear hotel

where celebrity's came from near and far

there were film stars of screen and stage

the Beverley's and pop stars of that golden age

they came to wareham on the frome

where the purbeck hills were our true home

 

The grockels came to walk and stare

along with poets and artiste fair

the banter of the market stalls

the fish you caught and the names they called

 

The church that stood upon the hill

the walls of grass and the meadows fields

the cows that gathered in stoborough lane

the pound where i courted Mary Jane

 

The school where stuckey gave us boys the cane

the quay with monkey Susie inside a cage

with her big tin collecting box upon a chain

 

The press and media came to stay

in black bear rooms for high class pay

the little shops that sold quaint pots

the sandpits and the bestwalls smocks

 

The tourist haunts of Lawrence Shaw

the anglebury cafe and the kids so poor

the lady st Mary bells that chimed

the verse i wrote and the poems that rhymed.

 

The labourers parish

 

 

 

There's a natural streams runs under the flagstone pathway of the church

with a heavy arched stone carved out in the delightful little porch

the fields and meadows all around are buttercup and lily wet

with leaves of emerald green and shrubs around yon fence

 

The walks to bourne valley and the hills of high intent

are gathered with the elder trees that frequent this relent

there's a a pub called shoulder of mutton where john Augustus did frequent

where the pedlar's and the gypsy kings did pay no council rent

 

The roads to ringwood market was long and heavy down

with heathers and Rhodie bushes with fir trees spread around

the kinson green was famous for the stocks where fools were locked

with ponies for the common man and Gulliver attired

the grass was course and hills were steep were gypsy vans did ride

where chaffinch chirped and warblers song was the Gypsy's greatest pride

 

Though gravel pits and clay were rich whilst brickyards were employed

with families for to work till dusk every man and boy

the heaths were rich in bird and Brier and the springs upon the down

where lodge hill stood and men made good all work for half a crown

 

The work was hard with hours long and laborer's earnt their pay

from morning light to dinner time until the end of day.

 

DORSET STEAM FAIR

Ye old steam fair is here each year

upon the downs with fun and beer

the oil it smells and the tracks are mud

where cars are parked upon the meadows green

the carousels play and delight the scene

 

The crowds flock here again this year

to buy the goods or storm the gears

there's gypsy folk and traveler's tales

with smoky air and diesel smells

 

There's big machines to roll n ride

across the Dorset countryside

where zunners run and play n stare

at all the folks within the fair

 

With marquee tents and music rock

stalls to sale and gears to lock

amusements rich in fields of green

bikers parades and beauty scenes

 

Crowds of folks flock here each year

to mingle and to enjoy the spirit here

where hills are steep and views are grand

the steam fair spreads across this land.

 

CHARLIE WILLIAMS

 

 

Charlie Williams lived in the village

just close to cuckoo woods

where the bluebells grew so thick n tall

close to where the stocks once stood

 

He lived with Bertha his loving wife

far from the welsh hills tracks

where birdsong was his childhood melodies

where nothing did he lack

 

There's the Little bungalow by the winding track

where I often came to call

where we chatted in the morning light

then at the evenings fall

 

Old Charlie was a Williams’s lad

far from his native land

where the valleys were of evergreen

the mines were steep tall and grand

 

Charlie could tell a yarn

when locals came to call

the children played there in the sun

whilst the wood pigeons gave their calls

 

He would sit and feed the robins there

you could see him every day

he feed them from his open hands

before he went away.

 

A DURZET POET

 

 

 

He wasn't yet in running for the poet laureate

for he was destined for heartaches and only sad regrets

He was once just a hobbly hoy or so his grandma say

though he was a dreamer with these visions in his head

 

For days and nights he studied life and all its hidden realms

he knew that he was destined for some young darlings arms

the shadows of existence cast a spell his way with charms

but he was lost in wonder there sitting on the bay of qualms

 

The village children mocked at him and the jester called him names

but he was just so sanctimonious would not join in their foolish games

he lit a pipe for peace each night and granted wishes too

but he was just a foolish dreamer for thats what poets do

 

The village life was restful though its ways were foolish talk

the yokels were just farmer boys with hay and old pitchforks

though he was uncouth and ignorant to the city's modern ways

he preferred to dream at night and roll gals in the hay

 

Though he would often recite realms of verse and rhyme

his adversaries and peers read his prose upon the vine

the walks he took and tales he told were harmless and so rare

though he preferred the scenic life and the journey to the fairs

 

All the joys of youthfulness were strung upon his frame

all his sweetheart maidens blessed his love heart games

though fanciful and gaiety were terms no longer used

he wrote of knights in Armour and lovers on the loose

 

His words were cast in diamond text with sonnets running through

his prose and dialect was cast in durzets nasal tones

as he mimicked the farmers boys at the castle on the dome

then he whistled in his melody as he took the long walk home.

 

In the country

 

 

The country lad was up at dawn

to milk the cows and mow the lawn

the dairymaid was kinda sweet

she gathered daisies at her feet

 

The morning sun was breaking through

as the cockerel crowed his cock a doodle do

the ganders chased the boys and gals

and the lad took water from the well

 

The farmers wife was baking cakes

and the farmer was in town

on the make

 

The distant church bells did chime

as the poet wrote another silly rhyme

 

love in dorset

 

 

 

We built sand castles at sandbanks

swam naked in studland bay

walked through Compton acres

walked along shell bay

 

We ran through country meadows

tripped down country lanes

made love in the hayricks

in wareham in the rain

 

We rode a bus to kinson

danced on the village green

went to the fair at alder hills

then went to paint the scenes

 

We cuddled up at purbeck view

afore the sun went down

then we went to corfes great castle

then we went to weymouth town

 

The stars came out to meet us

and i took your hand again

told you that i loved you

one more time again

 

We kissed in the full moonlight

when all the seagulls soared

and then we went a walking over at west moors

 

The air was fresh and scented

there was blossoms on the trees

you told me sad old stories

and you made me hold you close

 

I kissed you in a stone doorway

it was near lulworth bay

we made love in the sand dunes

you stole my heart away.

 

 LULWORTH VISIT

 

 

 

Carousel ladies with wishing well hats

cricket players with oaken wood bats

trumpet players in the village band

they all had me to make promises i couldn't keep

they all rode to market in a green jeep

 

The durdle door surf

it was mighty a roar

and the sand it was fine

and the love was amour

 

The crabs they were tiny and bit many toes

and the rugged rocks they tore at your clothes

the baskets were laden with lobsters a crying

and there many many a chef happily frying

 

The lulworth lord was in his terrain

the tanks were firing

the castle drew grockels the trust it was financially fine

the village was dead and sold off its hopes at the last war time

 

Whilst the car park prices

were too dear by far

so don't come to Lulworth my dears

if you get there by car.

 

   Springtime in poole

 

 

 

Cockerels a crowing and kids are at play

lambs in the fields its a Brahms holidays

lovers out walking and birds they do sing

sun is a shining at first day of spring

there's hares in the meadows and cows in the corn

there's music and laughter its good to be born

 

There's daisies and clover and rabbits a run

whole lot of blossom and spring has begun

the seas on the shoreline lapping today

there's sands near the oceans and boats in the bay

the sailors are dancing with girls on their arms

you can hear the music and sing all their songs

 

The hills of the purbecks they beckon to you

there's treasures on islands and mermaids at Poole

the seagulls they soar and the suns in full view

the holiday makers make their way down to Poole

there's hardy and blyton and old Robert Lou

there's stories to tell them and crackerjack too

them cockle are ripe and the fairs coming too

there's so much to see in the olde town of Poole

 

where Augustus john spent many a day

drawing the gypsies and the boats in the bay

you can write of old Freddie the boxer in town

the Lawrence Arabia who worked for the crown

Gulliver's at Lilliput or kin son today

you can see all his contraband its stacked in Poole bay

 

The cockleshell heroes were filmed across the way

tenkos at wool and its spring holiday

there's monkey world theme park and canford cliffs too

the millionaires paradise they come here to Poole

the yanks live at sandbanks john Lennon did too

Brian cruthcher was speedway king and i was a fool.

 

 SUMMERS DAY IN WAREHAM

 

 

 

On wareham bridge one summers day

the lads were gathered for water play

the river it was deep and wide

with grassy banks on other redcliffes side

 

The boats were few

and the swans were proud

and the local fair drew many a crowd

 

The lady st Marys bells did chime

and old granary was selling wine

the vicar he was drunk like newt

and the Bobby's bell went toot toot toot

 

the farmers gathered on the quay

and heather sat along-sides me

on stoborough green the lassies danced

and Ned and Mel had their romance

 

The sandpit's band played many a fine tune

and we stood up late till twas full moon.

 

 

Ganders go a walking

 

 

Six ganders went missing

from the Manning's farm one day

they had all had enough

they had all decided to run away

 

Old granfer he looked

and he asked grandson ray

have you seen the ganders anywheres today

 

They looked in the cow shed

they looked on the canford heath

they looked in the copper house

they looked in the meadows

they weren't with the sheep

 

They looked in the allotments

they looked in the pigs sty's

they looked in the brickyard

the gravel pits too

and asked folks going by

have you seen the ganders

anywhere in Poole

 

The ganders had scarpered

couldn't be found

just then the Dorset echo boy

brought the daily papers around

they were there on the front page

six ganders been found

their picture so bold

headlines -six ganders go a walking

along wallisdown road

 

They'd stopped all the traffic

they caused a great din

their hissing n squawking

twas a terrible sin

 

We went to the cop shop

to take them back home

those naughty six ganders

that went on the roam. 

 

My Dorset Poetry.

 

My poetry reading

co/Bournemouth Echo

 

 

click pic

 

 

 

 

Talbot's two sisters

 

 

 

Where smugglers did haunt and poachers did prey

from the heath-lands of canford to the shores of shell bay

their boots they were worn and the children were poor

with lessons not learned and their manners absurd to the core

 

The gentry were rich then and their houses were grand

but the poor laboring men twere rest not assured

the benevolent sisters took up the cause

through the fine words of Owen and the cross of the lord

 

The village was crafted and the lines they were drawn

with cottages fit for the weary and worn

with stables and farmland so free to transcend

with the community rich in its peoples and blend

 

The primroses grew on the footpaths its true

with the church of st marks close by the boundaries of Bournemouth n Poole

where the kinson estate had stretched from wimborne to Waterloo

still rich in its folklore and the gypsies ole traveling crew

 

The Talbot community was true to the cause

with our lords ten commandments and its decency laws

though the poor men were rich in their community life

with the strength of the hands and the skills of their knives

 

the school it was set in the woods of the land

where there's heathlands for grazing still free to ole gypsy bands

close by the poor commons of turfs new England's fame

the sisters created a wealth amidst the stoned gravelled lanes

 

Where sweet lodges were plentiful and men knew their places

where the squires were rich and all of the lawbreakers hid of their face

in woodlands and heath-lands where rabbits ran free the story of Talbot is pure history

 

On the Wallis downs commons and in the rich lanes

where folks grew their crops and the fox ran again

the working men were free to gain the benefits of open land

the gaffers were dedicated and the land was free

where two sisters pledged their thrust in thee.

 

 ST ANDREWS

 

 

At st Andrews church down millhams lane

the grass grew tall twas a real bad pain

the stream it flowed neath pathway neat

no one knew twas beneath their feet

 

The 15th century church it stands with scented flowers

well at hand

the river stour runs nearby

the stinging nettles the blandford fly

 

The meadows rich the longham lanes

the church clock tower the fancy window panes

the bell that chimes out the hour

old Gulliver the yellow scented meadow flowers

 

The modern hall that john Moore built

the purbeck stone the seaside silt

the dartford warbler in the trees

the landscaped banks with bumble bees

 

The car park that floods each autumn rain

the renovation work that took place down millhams lane

the cemetery that stretched one time across the millham road

before the cross

the congregation that sang his praise

the kinson church the history books the revolving tomb

the little bridge the hidden room

 

The family heritage that dates afar

before the modern home or car

the walks across to the ferndown ridge

st Andrews church

look what they did.

 

WAREHAM LAD

 

 

On wareham walls i played as a lad

the good times and the bad

catching lizards and building dens

sandpit's swimming by the meadows sweet back then

 

With sounds of crickets at your feet

nearby the millers favorite haunts

wherein the brooks the boys did taunt

under the shadey oaken tree

where samways raised a family

 

By yonder farm and haystack high

where ducks and geese did oft times fly

the martins Church sits upon the brow

the north street lanes

in nearby fields the farmers ploughed

 

Where bestwall gals did so frequent

and folks went down to pay their rents

whilst the markets on a Thursday morn

awoke the gentry all forlorn

 

Farm laborers all were raised in style

we walked those purbeck hills for many a mile

the quayside monkey mickey was in a cage

collected for lifeboats for to save

 

The cockerel crowed to start the day

samways son ken was a making hay

many worked hard to earn a wage

all the kids were at the rec to play

 

David best and mp mellor too

it was holiday

whilst all the corn

was shipped to Poole.

 

A KID IN WAREHAM

 

 

When i was a kid in wareham

i played upon the walls

the grass was green n high then

you had one hells long way to fall

 

We caught lizards daily

n minnows on the quay

i rang the bells on sundays

we had rabbit pie for our tea

 

The cuckoos lived in stoborough

then they let them out the gate

on Thursday Easter fun day

we ate hot Cross buns

 

On the burrow there at creche

we collected chestnuts down home lane

played conkers whilst at school

the masters name was stuckey

old samways played the fool

 

The kids all loved the river

then we had the fair

i dated lots of pretty gals

with ringlets in their hair

 

David mellor i once babysat

he became a con

then David best turned down man utd

guess he thought that he knew best

dont know what he was on

 

Hardy wrote about the town

the place i love the best

when i was a kid in wareham

they put me through the test.

 

The oak dales of Poole

 

 

 

The kinson pottery stood near the old wareham road

where the tower was in sight just across from the wold

the brambles did grow down to oakdale and Poole

where as children they played young chivvies and fools

 

The turners and warrens did frequent the heaths

where canfoird and sea view were up at the breech

there were vardos around and down the old lanes

where birdsong and chaffinch sang on the wane

 

The new inn-was open and the chapels at rest

where the beech trees once stood and the sparrows did nest

the hurdy gurdy played in the old town today

whilst the children did dance and the grinder did play

 

The old songs have gone now and the gypsies remain

though there housed in the terraces in red brick and pane

no more do they wander yet some do remain

amongst the brass and the gorse where there's tinder and reins

 

Oh how they did turn to the dance and the song

when the accordions played and their stories went on

the brickyards and viaducts grew on the downs

where the gravel pits rich and the poets were strong

 

The Poole park was rich then so rich for the king

with its gardens of primrose and its fountains and streams

the dolphins they greeted one at each gate

where the lodhges were rich and the sailors were mates

 

They say churchill came here with his sketch pad and pen

his cigars were lit and their stories were famed

like the trails that were rich in rabbits and dens

where the fox once did frequent amongst poets and wrens.

 

WAREHAM CARNIVAL

 

 

 

Streets thronged with zunners dogs and revelries

grockels in tow and local breeds

expected faces and sounds of laughter greet the air

congested sidewalks girls with belly's bare

 

Church bells ring and town clock chimes

village bobbies to make it run on time

wardens and children everywhere

carnivals here but wheres the fair

 

Like some events out of the past

hot sunny afternoon that lasts ans lasts

voices raised and moods of grace

glasses in hand with bitter taste

 

Entourage full of revelries

majorettes dancing wee children on their knees

music and laughter with dulcet tones

riverside crowds all heading home

 

Drinkers and boozers from taverns doors

gaze on and smile know not for

children playing and schools parade

dresses in summer each fair maid

 

Swans on the water graced in white

riverbank bathers what a sight

sirens of jeeps and trucks on the streets highways

no traffic allowed just folks at play.

 

FARMERS BOY

 

 

Yesterday i took a walk down winding tracks

where birdsong greets the mornings realms

where reeds and heathers there bestow

a pleasure garden all on show

 

I gazed on hills that spread so green

where lambs and seagulls paint the scene

where clouds of cotton wool bestow

their joy of life all spread below

 

Across the heaths of rabbit run

where fox give chase and farmers son

sing all their songs of folks in prayer

to wallow in the beauty there

 

I spied the tractor o'er the soil

the fields of grain across the moors

the lilac trees and nettles sweet

where tramps and ladies trod their feet

 

The sea of spray where fishes dance

the sands of time and pebbles chance

the sailboats riding on the spray

the sun shines bright across the bay

 

The tower clock doth chimes the hour

the church bells ring across the stour

the zunners run from school this day

whilst lovers frolic in the hay

 

I spy the village pond and water pump

the five bar gate where walkers hump

their rucksacks and poles of fine regard

all just across from the farmers yard

 

The geese give chase to Mary Jane

whilst dogs do bark and lords do monies gain

where stone wall walks are set in sand

where hardy wrote and Barnes statue still doth stand

 

Where market hawkers give full guest

whilst zunners run amongst the best

where pubs and cafes do imitate

the history of the landed Gentry's fate

 

The walks i took that summers day

across the purbecks right of ways

where travelers rest and shoulders rich

in history lessons spread across the purbecks ditch

 

Whilst warblers sang and lizards squirmed

the adder slid and the slow worm

the master poet was lost in joy

when i was just a child and farmers boy.

 

Dorset days out

 

 

 

  In this quiet corner of the world

where love and peace reside

i watched the birds all in their flight

the spays upon the tides

 

The cottage nestled in the shade

beside a flowing stream

where thatch and bower meet the sky

in my Dorset country scene

 

The cottages of stoborough green

the fields and meadows mean

the growing lilac and the reeds

the splendid village scenes

 

The castle high upon the hill

where Cromwell came to call

where royal blood and honored blood was spilled

before the victors fall

 

I hear the calling of the cows

the sheep amongst the green

where village zunners ran and played

where kings were crowned and queens were laid

 

The hills of purbeck beckons me

with Hardy tales anew

where Barnes and blyton told their yarns

where grockels came to Poole.

 

LONGHAM WALK

 

 

Yesterday we walked to longham

kinson common n mead on the way

saw about 500 rabbits

they were in the fields at play

we walked out to where the stables

once skirted the bridle paths

there were ponies in the meadows

we whistled and we laughed

 

They have built upon the beauty

the woodlands and the green

rows of mansion houses

destroyed most of the scenes

we stopped upon the river bank

the stour was in full flow

it must have been a heron

giving us a show

there were swans of regalia floating

with fisher boys with lines

we sure loved it in longham

the scenery divine

 

We dropped into the bridge house

to telly savallis it once belonged

he would drop in on his helicopter

on Lolly's he was strong

we walked back through old kinson

the bridge which German's prisoners built

the st Andrews church n grounds

where Gulliver's tomb did tilt

 

Though longham was delightful

with its lady guests fine cottage house

its thatched roofs and its quaintness

its still quiet as a mouse

except for the flow of traffic

along the ringwood road

though its kept its unique character

with its field mice and its toads.

 

 DURZET MAN

 

 

When Barnes was in Dorchester reside

the purbecks were true countryside

the egdon heath was a desolate place

where the peasant folks

they knew their place

 

Where geese n gander hissed all day

and little zunners ran and played

where grass was green

and banks were high

where rivers n streams set the scene

across the durzet countryside

 

From wool bridge manor to lulworths door

across egdon heath to studland shore

the grass was tall and manners fine

where toffs and lords drank berry wine

 

In wareham town on Thursday morn

the gypsies came to collect the corn

the corn exchange twas packed with farmers too

the market place sold lambs from wool

 

The trees were high and rivers wide

where samways kissed his future bride

the swanage crew were set to shore

and weymouth beach was waiting for

lords and ladies kings and queens

pastors clergy and foreign deans

 

Poole harbor was the place to be

famed for its cargo's out to sea

hardy wrote of these times

romantic notions and tales of woe

people places from Poole to lundigo

 

tolpuddle men met in secret haunts

to form the union of free men

from ranks of time and history

purbeck was born from out of the sea

 

An island set in purbeck stone

with lanes and hills and dips and dales

country folk sights and smells

heather-ed hills and grassy walls

listen to the thrush that calls

 

The surfing seas

the silvery sands

the poetic words

of the durzet man.

 

Farmers daughter

 

 

 

She was my first love

my lady amour

she took me dancing

and bird nesting on the moors

 

We did hay making together

at that time of year

she was a farmers daughter

and i was in love

my dear

 

She wore pretty floral dresses

that went down to the floor

she tied her hair in ribbons

and knew what love was for

 

She took me in her den

twas hidden in a stack

she was a beauty

in her stance

and more so pon her back

 

The straw n corn did tickle

and the hay went down your back

she wore a pretty scarlet bonnet

tied up with lace

her breasts were rare and ample

and a very pretty face

 

She had a master key

she turned it in my lock

and made sweet love with me

after playing postman's knock

 

Her stature it was bonny

and her dialect was course

she taught me all life's lessons

next to stables with the horse

 

Her father was a farmer

and her mother made good bread

her brothers were my schoolmates

her sisters they were proud

you took note of what they said

 

She took me to the vicar

for to see if we could wed

for we had made our own bed

 

and the village children laughed at us

and the horse was called old Ned

 

she was a Darling sweetheart

but a flirt to say

no less

for she ran away on all saints day

with a squires son called Joe.

 

 CERNE ABBAS GIANT

 

 Their cleaning up Cerne Abbas

the writings on the wall

they re cutting back the grass

so folks can see him all

 

Hes there in all his glory

for all the world to see

another seventh wonder

not far from the sea

 

They say hes got the power

to fertile all the dames

hes rich in height and beauty

though his manhood's rearranged

 

Hes the giant on the hillside

you can see him every day

his figure is upstanding

drawn in chalk and clay

 

They say hes 16Th century

or could been there before

hes a legend in his time

with his manhood set for sure

 

His fable is well rounded

his ardor wise and true

hes an olde folk tradition

high up neath the blue

 

The ladies come to see him

to sit upon his throne

they say he will fertilate them

before they hurry home

 

Hes a giant on the hillside

they clean him every day

you can see him in the books of old

just across from the bay.

 

 CHARMINSTERS LOSS

 

Rode through charmister that cosmopolitan refrain

i passed its cafes and its book stores on the wane

i saw its cyber cafe and its bistro walls

i stumbled through its alleyways and felt its sad remorse

 

Charminster where students haunt the streets of cars and bikes

where shadows hide the poverty of sad eyed gals and dyke's

charminster where cemetery hides the loss of war

whe shops and fruit parade the streets of the sad eyed daffodils

 

Charminster for banking with student loans and loss

where tossers walk the streets at night and monies at a loss

where noise and bustle haunt my head and inner sanctuary

charminster where church and dime are ranked in majesty

 

Charmister where bedsit land is stacked three storeys high

where Indian and Chinese meet with granmas apple pie

charminster the squalor aside the wealth and shame

where car sale ranks and taxis meet to ride homeward again

 

charminster where trees are hid behind the streets of loss

where students walk with tourists bored and ladies taunt their worth

the lights at night are calling me with smells of aromatic lust

charmister home of the sad and housing land and trusts.

 

MONKEYS TRIP

 

 

 

I once went to the monkey house

On top of up on hill

i took along a dozen eggs

with yokes all set to kill

 

We travelled on the rossmore flyer

up and down those hills

through alder road and monkeys hump

you could hear those jingly tills

 

The weather it was wet and cold

with puddles for to splash

the yokels all spoke durzet twang

the chattering did last

 

The gypsy kids were chavys then

there were sherwoods all in line

i thought i saw the regal flicks

had a neat woodbine.

 

LUNDEGO WALKS

 

 I took a trip to lundego

were gypsies camped in rain and snow

on egdon heath by wareham moors

where heather stretched in gypsy Roma lore

 

The Carey walks with rhodey dens

with trees so tall and song of wrens

where streams were rich in woodlands lore

there as a boy i saw it all

 

The Sanford dells and stoborough green

where folks all danced on Halloween

the roadside vardos stranded there

with gypsy rose and heather fair

 

The moreton tracks and worgret heath

where as kids we learned to cut our teeth

the potato field of spiller jack

with sacks of spuds upon our backs

 

Where fishes jumped and eels did slide

through rivers rich and mills that roared

with waters rich and wheat not spoiled

where granary walls were hard and mean

with views and walks to redcliffes beauty scenes

 

The corn exchange beneath the clock

far from the brambles and stingers docks

where urchin children once there played

upon the heaths of yesterdays.

 

Long time ago in kinson

 

 

 

Long time ago in kinson village

they put them in the stocks on kinson green

long time again when they danced around the may queen

they walked the cows to market along the ringwood road

popped into the bear cross to rest their weary load

 

in the shoulder of mutton they took the funeral crew

twas a stretch to st andrews church from the port of poole

 

Gulliver resided in the great pelhams house

he was a smuggler of tea you see

in cuckoo woods the bluebells did grow wild and free

there were cuckoos in the meadows then

in our early history

 

there were lodges across the wild terrain

over to lodge hills

canford magna manor

the stour ran its course

with the meadow sweet flowers

we made daisy chains to pass away the hours

 

Natural water springs sprang up across the downs

rabbits at wallisdown to alderney

the gypsies collected heather sprigs

to sale on streets at Poole

we collected our nanny goat

from the bogs of Waterloo

 

The blossoms were sweet

they decked the boughs

an folks talked like thee and thou

cows and ganders walked

the gravel and sandy tracks

an knobby watton wore a sack upon his back

 

Past history of kinson village folk

which stretched from the village

to near the antelope

the snake pub was a favourite in ol newtown

young nelson lost his leg

for sake of a crown.

 

  

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

Creech Days

 

We took a walk to Creech each year us kids from wareham town

we wore our best clothes Sunday best our smiles and girls in gowns

we took a stroll to creech burrow for picnic on the mount

each Easter hot cross bun day we did this our numbers you could count

 

We climbed the hill to Dorset's scenes oh was a splendid site

with views of rivers hills and downs with fields all Green and bright

we talked and laughed and played those games that kids all like to do

we could see across to puddle town and the power station at Poole

 

There were birds that sang upon the downs where grass grew tall and mean

with walks around the mount to top to view those splendid scenes

the rabbits scrambled o'er the copse and foxes chased and played

we could hear the lady st Marys bells and the chaffinch on the trees

 

The days were long and sunny then with time to do just as you please

there was hot cross buns with jam and pop which was sicking and so cool

we tucked away our picnic there and looked across to Poole

 

The somerset downs were prime and the Hampshire forest moors

we could see the sea and smell the gorse and loved the paddocked horse

us kids we strolled home weary and full of fun and mirth

 

Across the stoborough heath and woods to warehamd homeward course

those days were full of memories and laughter with true grit

we talked and strolled that route each year where upon the burrow wed sit.

.

Reminiscence's of Dorset

 

 

With the dock leaves spread across the ground

the fallow earth and moles own mounds

the leaves of autumn spread around

the farmers walks and Dorset fox n hounds

 

The cockerel crowing in the morn

the dogs that bark across the lawns

the walls of purbeck stone lie hard

the dandelions growing in the yard

 

The village church and steeple tower

the morning mists and autumns showers

the sun that comes a peeking through

the hills n dales of avenues

 

The Wessex tales of Hardy's books

the tales of Enid blytons adventures and crooks

the William Barnes great poetry

the Dorset hills i love to see

 

The sandy shores of swanage town

the grockels who visit our town

the wareham walls and bells that chime

the lambs that play most of the time

 

The markets places where we meet

the little shops and quaint old streets

the stoborough green and village hall

the kinson stocks where nobles all

were paraded daily one and all

 

The lulworth cove and durdle door

the forest roads and seaside shores

the folks who talk that durzet dialect so free

take me back to times when i were with thee.

 

 

 

 

 

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