Another bit of favourite poetry

This particular piece is written by Edward Slow who wrote in the Wiltshire dialect. This one, about the Harvest Home celebrations was written to be sung.

HARVUST WOM SONG

Tune-” Auld Lang Syne.”

Good harvust chaps as handy lives,

Ta thase yer leetle town ;

Com stir yerzelves about ta keep ;

Thease day a girt renown ;

Var ’tis tha day of ael tha year,

When men an measters vree ;

Tagether shall enjoy therzelves,

In parfect unity,

CHORUS:-

Let love an vrenship on thease day,

Ael evils auvercom ;

An wie good cheer, a beef an beer,

We’ll keep our harvust wom.

Com wives an daaters that av help’d

Ta get tha harvust in ;

Com putt yer bran new dresses on,

Ta liven up tha zene.

Com Moll. an Doll, an Poll, an Zue,

Com Vanny an Marier ;

An everyone that wirks about,

Var Hirl ar var Squire.

Let love an vrenship on thease day, &c.

To church we vust of ael ull goo,

In a girt raink za gran ;

A marchin jist like zodgers bwold,

Ta tha tune of ower brass ban ;

An there ower thanks we will pour out,

Ta He who lives on hi ;

Var ael tha goods things he da zen,

Ower mouths ta zatisfy.

Let love an vrenship on thease day, &c.

Ta measter’s house then back we’ll goo,

Wie shearpened appetite ;

An zoon at girt big spicy jints,

Let in wie ael ower mite ;

An ater that we’ll smoke an zing,

An measter’s healths we’ll drink ;

While young uns thay shill dance away,

Till ther eyes begin ta blink.

Let love an vrenship on thease day,

Ael evils auvercom ;

An wie good cheer, a beef an beer ,

We’ll keep our harvust wom.

By Edward Slow (1841-1925)

Harpisichord

I may own a quirky collection of musical instruments but not a harpsichord. This Harpisichord is Harpischord House in Hastings. It was built in the early 19^th century by a distant relative. This was a chap called George Stickland or Strickland. His common ancestor with me is William Stickland who was born in about 1657.

George was quite well to do, working, or rather owning a business as a corn merchant. He had enough money to have a grand house built which, apparently bore a resemblance to a Harpsichord, hence the name.

This piece of doggerel appeared in the paper Hastings and St. Leonard’s News, Friday, 5th November, 1897.

            “Onward, upward, stepward, ay! And hillward

                        Goes your Postman to the Harpsichord;

              Near the land of Mrs. Sarah Milward,

                        Widow of a territorial lord.

 

            “Strickland built it on a garden summit –

                        Strickland, with baptismal name of George;

              Built it with the aid of line and plummit;

                        Built it with a subway sort of gorge.

 

            “Many a time this passage have I travelled,

                        Frequently with the ‘bills’ for Carswell’s mills,

              When the paths were neither paved nor graveled,

                        Leading to the place o’er the hills.

 

            “Many a time in youth I’ve helter-skeltered

                        Down from off the West Hill’s verdant sward;

              Many a time from weather-squalls I’ve sheltered

                        Space within beneath the Harpsichord.

 

            “Harpsichord its pretty name was christened

                        Just because in building it was found

              Shape it had which in the sunlight glistened

                        Much as might the instrument of sound.

 

            “Strickland bought the site of Thomas Bossom,

                        In the year of Eighteen-one or two.

              Rather near to where the draper Cossam

                        Had a piece of burial-ground in view.

 

            “House was built, and Hamilton admired it,

                        Probably for views of town and sea;

              Be it that or not, I trow he hired it

                        ‘Bout the year Eighteen-nought-and-three.

 

            “Doubtless, other decent sort of people

                        Lived in Mr. Strickland’s Harpsichord;

              Looking o’er St. Clement’s Church and steeple,

                        Also looking fairly oceanward.

 

            “Come they might have done from Deal or Devon;

                        Folk they might have been with lots of pelf;

              Yet the year of Eighteen-six or seven

              Found George Strickland living there himself.

 

            “Forty years above the Channel waters,

                        Strickland’s wife here living will have been,

              Giving to her husband sons and daughters,

                        Ere on earth she ceases to be seen.

 

            “She, good soul! Will die in ‘Forty-seven,

                        At the lengthed age of seventy-four;

              May her spirit finds its rest in Heaven;

                        Ther abiding ever, evermore!

 

            “Strickland, in his Sev’nty-ninth, will follow,

                        Twelve years later – Eighteen-fifty-nine;

              And to sainted Clement’s man-made hollow

                        Passively his body must resign.”

I don’t think I know of many poems dedicated to relatives of mine. Actually I’m not sure this execrable verse should count as poetry. But at the very least it bring a smile or even a giggle to me.

I have never seen the house. But there is footage showing the house at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZNUTP8LLzY

The Hoopoe

Back in childhood days my brother and I use to enjoy looking through my dad’s bird book. The book was ‘British Birds in their Haunts by Rev. C A Jones. It was originally compiled in 1909 but Dad had a 1938 reprint. It had some coloured plates (by William Foster) and one of the birds featured in colour was the hoopoe.

It has to be said that, with the exception of the kingfisher, which I see from time to time, these were birds one doesn’t really expect to see in the UK. The book says that the hoopoe has been known to breed in this country. The phrase used is ‘a few instances’ which implies almost never.

The grand appearance of the hoopoe obviously appealed to brother and I. We were always on the lookout for this amazing bird and had a promise to tell each other if we saw one.

And do you know what? One day in the early 1980s I did see one. It flew over my garden. I dashed to get my wife and the bird, bless it, turned around and came back. It had already been clear to me, but now my wife, already pooh-poohing the idea, had to agree. We had had a visit, or rather a fly past, by a hoopoe.

It was, though, a truly bitter-sweet moment. I so wanted to tell my brother, but he had not long died, oh so young. I still feel angry, over thirty years on, because I can’t tell him.

I did try to tell the people in the museum in our nearby town. I phoned them.

‘I’ve just seen a hoopoe!’ I said.

There was a momentary silence and then a click as the phone at the other end was put down. Clearly the person on the other end had no idea what I was talking about.

I’ll now introduce another of my silly verse books. This one is Nicholas Bentley’s Book of Birds, published in 1965. One of his birds is the hoopoe!

Now that’s absurd, but we are reminded that the clipped poodle was a fashion accessary back then! Come to think of it, that was absurd as well.

Nobody but an imbecile

This post might start off as a bit more of my favourite poetry, but it has a bit of a twist later on.

Regular readers might know that I like comic verse and this little book, originally published in 1917 certainly fits the bill for me.

It’s entertaining, light hearted, clever and funny. What more could you want>? Robert Williams Wood was a serious scientist and enjoyed, as a hobby, taking two dissimilar species but with similar sounding names, drawing them so they looked the same and writing a little verse. Here is one of his items.

You get the idea already, I’m sure.

And here’s another.

Ah yes, two opposites (almost) and our poet has failed to make them look similar, but this is my favourite and it has become bittersweet.

My brother in law is Bill or William and has always been Sweet William. Sadly, he has become afflicted with dementia and in rapid time has had to move to an appropriate care home. I certainly wouldn’t call him Cross Bill now, in fact in some ways, as he reverts to childhood he is even sweeter. But of course he is no longer the Bill we all knew and loved. It is just so sad to see the change and so hard for his nearest and dearest.

Fortunately, Bill, himself, seems happy enough albeit without understanding why he is in a care home.

Poetry

A Happy Nerd can be quite highbrow when it comes to poetry. This slim anthology, published in 1946, is a favourite volume.

You are probably already recognising a touch of sarcasm in my opening sentence, although, in truth, I can like what might be deemed more highbrow poetry. But verse is more in my line – simple, short, and maybe a bit pithy.

I went to Noke goes through the counties of England. The author has collected local rhymes about places. Here are a few linked to places I feel close to!

Let’s start with Suffolk.

Guess which two places I have ancestors from? That’s right, Halesworth and Blythburgh!

And now Sussex.

I have ancestors from Chiddingly and East Hoathly – and also Peasmarsh which gets a put down in the verse below.

Many of my ancestors come from Kent

And finally, Wiltshire where I have lived for all of my married  life.

Hmm! I look over Salisbury Plain from my house and I think it is a magical place although it can’t be denied that people used to get lost and die there because of a lack of landmarks.