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ODE TO BURTON LONG SINCE GONE

 

The mighty trucks with their loads of stone

Thunder through from Portland,

Down the High Street and past the Pound

Then the hill confronts them.

A change of gear, a long slow climb

and Devil take the hindmost-

A National Bus approaching slow

Wonders 'Will I make it ?

Whilst Lou sits passive on his bench

His little dog beside him

And waits with his all-knowing smile

While the rush goes on around him.

He ponders on the time gone by

Before the petrol engine

When Burton was a peaceful Place

With little to disturb them.

The Reading Room with cosy fire

And Newspapers and Billiards,

Stan Wilas and his village shop

The Dove and its strong cider.

The Horseshoes with its one small bar

Where fishermen coud drink in peace

And talk of boats and seines and tides

With not a thought of how they dressed

Or can they wear their Wellies.

The women in their long black skirts

A gossiping at doorways

Their hands at all times busily

Working at their nets and braids.

The Village Dance on Sat'day night,

The flirting with the fillies.

Sunday morning go to church

Then on to beer and skittles.

The cottages in Southover

Before the fire destroyed them.

The boats pulled high on Chesil Beach

No tar then to pollute them.

Bertie dashing down the hill

'The mackeral are straying'

The dropping of the hoes and spades

Then the mad dash to net them.

The stables by the old 'Dove Inn'

Where horse and cart were ready,

The sea harvest to collect.

Then the wild race toward West Bay

Wher the fish salesme awaited.

The lass who came from Abbotsbury

flat fish from there did carry

To sell in Bridport each Wednesday

The fish- but ne're her cunny.

Does Dennis still remember now

Tree vaults across the river?

The gatherings in the Anchor bar

The shotgun blasts and curses?

The foxes kept within the pens

To serve the Gentry's pleasures.

And what is now Norburton Hall

That then was known as 'Sturdies.

Next we come to a tree lined hedge

And then the fir lined walk

Where we waited for the Shipton kids

The noddies for to pelt them.

The stealthy watch

As the gardener left

For his noonday cider.

Then into the greenhouse,

Through the trees

To pinch his fruits

For we were hungry.

The high stone style

From the Shipton track

The school gardens 'longside it.

The flaxen mill

With its water-wheel

The river underneath it-

No need then for a book to learn

For it was all around you.

Food came then from men and field

And not in cans or packets.

Fish a'plenty from the sea,

Morning mushrooms by the score,

Eggs from hens around the door

And cider by the bucket.

The Legion marching down the street

Their banner proudly flying.

The men with medals shining bright

All gained with honour in the fight-

To keep their homeland free.

For boys-

The organ in the church to pump,

Their names to carve with a knife that's blunt

While the Parson preached his sermon.

Walking back from town at dusk,

The setting sun behind you.

No cars or lorries rushing by

Belching fumes to choke you,

Only the smell of God's good earth

And the saltspray from the briny.

But progress in the name of health

Was rapidly approaching.

The sewage scheme, which proved too much

For Pitt-Rivers and his resources.

No more could one sit in the little hut

Down at the bottom of the garden,

Reading the news from the torn up squares

Of yesterdays Echo and Guardian.

For the developers and the agents came

And there was a mighty auction.

But, no need for more,

You can see the score.

The results are all around us.

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