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Posted by Dusan Popratnjak, 3/7/08 at 2:20:16 PM.
Please see a selection of poems written by local Aldridge Residents.
Our Village.
I remember our village,seems so long ago
With its shops and cottages, all in a row,
The lovely old church with the school beyond
And close by was a Farmhouse with ducks on the pond.
We had a little station,I remember the smoke
When the train "puffed in" to collect the folk.
But all these memories are now far away
They all belong to yesterday.
Today my world is a different place
Man has made progress and altered its face.
Our little village has grown into a town
Shops,Station,Cottages have all ben knocked down.
But there's a few of us left who kep a place in our hearts
For that little country village with its horses and carts.
We remember the Meadows,the morning dew
And those leafy woods where the bluebells grew.
Mrs A.M Miller (An Aldridge Resident for eighty years.)
Aldridge Poet.
An Aldridge supermarket porter has proved he has a way with words - by publishing his own poetry book.Andrew Blakemore,who works at Morrisons in Anchor Road, Aldridge has published a 452 - page anthology entitled "The Wonder is You".
The 42 year - old has been writing poetry since 2001.His break into the world of poetry came after his song lyrics appeared in a church newsletter.Since then Andrew has gone on to write more than 700 poems.He has worked for Morrisons for eight and a half years and is also a keen musician.
Walsall and its surrounding also play a major role in his work,the poem Down Hobs Hole Lane tells the tale of an early autumn walk along the rural Aldridge throughfare
Signed copies are available from the author himself priced at £9.99.E mail andyblakes@talktalk.net for further details.
Please read and enjoy a selection of poems taken from the book that will relate to Aldridge Residents,old and new.Specialthanks to Andrew for allowing us to share them with you.
Aldridge Village
The picturesque scences of the farmland surrounding,
The fields and the hillsides together as one,
The people who lived there who worked in the village,
Remembered forever although they have gone.
The bakers and blacksmiths the grocersand teachers,
Those in the brickyards and those down the mine,
Now things have changed and so little remaining,
Save for St.Mary's and fields so divine.
A place in my heart will belong to the memory,
Of halcyon days that passed so long ago,
Where old swept aside to make way for the modern,
And none for the better old photographs show,
The picturesque scences of the farmland surrounding,
The horse driven ploughs and the gathering of hay,
The steam trains and station and peace never -ending,
And tales that are fading of old yesterday.
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
Bakers Lane So Long Ago.
Bakers Lane so long ago
Upon theHigh Street's terraced row,
The bakers stood
Those times so good
Its walls were painted white,
Where Ted Buckley baked inside
Cakes and bread displayed with pride,
The windows there
Beyound compare
Made such a loveley sight.
Every year on Christmas day
And while the townsfolk went to pray,
He would take
Their lunch and bake
Their turkeys golden brown,
In the ovens that he had
All those people were so glad,
Forgotton days
And simple ways
Before it was pulled down.
Bakers Lane so long ago
Where you could smell the rising dough,
Of crusty bread
On trays that fed
The village long before,
When it weas so old and quaint
Times of charm with such restraint,
There did dwell
Until it fell
The friendly baker's store.
written by Andrew Blakemore
Colliery No,1
The trucks on the railroad were laden with coal,
Dug from the quarry by pickaxe and spade,
Down the mine that they christened "Drybread",
The job was aspoor as the wages they paid.
The Bookmakers stood by the head of the mine,
There taking bets on who just might be killed,
Such was the danger the miners endured,
Hand blackened faces and lives unfulfilled.
Starved back to work in the twenty - six strike,
Conditions no better and pay just as bad,
It all had been worthless and nothing was gained,
Just left to be grateful for work that they had.
Young David Knowles had a day from the mine,
To be with his wife for the birth of their son,
The man who replaced him was killed on that day,
No time to mourn for the work must be done.
The lacenowso still down at old boatmans Lane,
The mines and the brickworks so long ago gone,
No cross to remind us of all those who died,
Down in the "Drybread" of old number one.
written by Andrew Blakemore.
Cuckoo's Nook.
Cuckoo's Nook where the bluebells grow
Amidst the April woodland,
Beside the muddy pathway
Winding through the trees.
Sunlight shines between the branches
Slowly budding in the Spring,
And flickers on the flowers
Bathing them in light.
Where autumn leaves did gently fall
So many weeks ago,
Now the winter chill has passed
Warmer days ahead.
As I walk along in wonder
I step around the puddles,
Formed by heavy showers
While the diamond tears.
Rest upon the stems and petals
The woodland floor so blue
I hear the birds start singing
Music fills the air.
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
Down Hobs Hole Lane.
September sun down Hobs Hole Lane,
The combines reaps the golden grain,
Which waves in fields
Now harvest yields
From autumns countryside,
I see the old sweet chestnut tree,
And all the hedgerows wild and free,
So still the air
The day so fair
I wander far and wide.
Skies of blue down Hobs Hole Lane,
The beauty there shall never wane,
The berries fine
And so divine
The view acros the land,
Through the gateway I do peer,
And see the sight of morning clear,
The trres still green
And so serene
All painted by God's hand.
As I walk down Hobs Hole Lane,
Where long forgotton days remain,
It winds and falls
Asong thrush calls
Then gracefully does fly,
I make my way past Nuttalls Farm,
And with a sense of peace and calm,
The horses graze
I stop and gaze
And then I walk on by.
written by Andrew Blakemore
Forge Lane.
The backsmiths stood beside the road
In olden days gone by,
Now nthing but the name survives
And memories slowly die,
Once smithies shod the horses there
And time and time again,
Within the pace that dwelt upon
The end of old Forge Lane.
The blacksmiths stood beside the road
Its chimney used to smoke,
For there the glowing embers burned
And fires they did stoke,
The hammer on the anivil rang
Its regular refrain,
They shaped and bent the shoes within
The end of old Forge Lane.
The blacksmiths stood beside the road
Where horses used to stay,
As Harry Pointon clenched their hoofs
And prised the old away,
While Fuller Thomas held them still
And gripped the leather rein,
They filed and nailed new shoes upon
The end of old Forge Lane.
The blacksmiths stood beside the road
A barrow just outside,
And there its doors were never closed
But always open wide,
Now just the fading photographs
Are all that do remain,
Of times that passed so long bfore
The end of old Forge Lane.
written by Andrew Blakemore.
I Stand Upon The Railway Bridge.
I stand upon the railway bridge
And see the tracks below,
The same place as I stood before
So many years ago,
I see the platform empty now
Save for the trees and the grass,
Which have replaced the people there
Those times have gone alas.
For now so many things have changed
Since early childhood days,
Across the lines the station stood
At which I used to gaze,
The trains no longer stop here
But continue on their way,
With their loads of stone and coal
Yet memories always stay.
The water tank no longer stands
Beside the arch of black,
Now just some scattered bricks remain
Beside that lonely track,
The signal box has gone as well
Embankments overgrown,
So stark the view from this old bridge
On which I stand alone.
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
Stubbers Green.
Upon the swag of Stubbers Green
Where many ducks and wading birds
And all the geese and seagulls fly
To seek its comfort and the peace
And watch the day go by.
And while the graceful swans do pass
Upon the water flat and calm
Their downy cygnets all in tow
They seek the solance of the reeds
Which on the shoreline grow.
As light does shine and waters gleam
Now diamond ripples dancing free
I feel a whispered gentle breeze
That moves across the golden lake
And through the restless trees.
As on the grassy bank I stand
I gaze upon the tranquil scence
And lean against the tree to shade
My eyes from setting sun so bright
And watch the evening fade.
written by Andrew Blakemore.
The Croft.
The pathway leads across the croft
Towards the chestnut trees,
Been standing there for many years
So mighty and strong,
St Marys bells are ringing and
They echo through the air,
While children play so joyfully
Upon the slides and swings.
The shadows cool beneath the trees
The shade October sun,
AS now the field is scattered with
The husks and fallen nuts,
And dwelling there upon the ground
Amongst the twigs and leaves,
And where the grass is thin and sparse
And sunlight rarely shines.
A young boy fills his pockets and
He carries all he can,
But still they keep on falling from
His small and dirty hands,
As two old ladies seated on
A worn and wooden bench,
Now talk of all those happy times
So many years ago.
written by Andrew Blakemore.
The Bridge Does Span The Waterway.
The bridge does span the waterway
The longwood basin calm,
With fields of green that run beside
The way to Calder Farm,
Now several barges moored upon
The lanuid Hay Head side,
White diamond and Rebecca to
The shaded bank are tied.
I walk towards the keepers house
Then stop and contemplate,
On all the many vessels that
Have been through this old gate,
I think of all the days gone by
And old familiar signs,
When waterways were laden with
The coal from Cannock mines.
Allheading to the foundary works
To fire the furnance steel,
So many had to pass this way
And turn this old cogged wheel,
That opened up this lock gate then
Saw waters rise and fall,
Then onward on their journey hence
Towards their port of call.
No longer do the horses pull
The barges toil and strain,
Nor walk along the tow- path here
Day in day out again,
It is so quiet and peaceful now
Yet still the remnants last,
Of days of smoking chimney stacks
And times of ages passed
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
The Elms.
The Elms has stood there for so long
Beside the island green,
And at the end of Anchor Road
Such changes it has seen,
Through all the times so joyful and
The times of peace and calm,
The village of serenity
That once had so much charm.
The Elms has been the gateway to
The village for so long,
The tree that grows beside it now
A symbol that's so strong,
It looks upon the busy roads
When once so quiet there,
But now those days are lost and gone
And no one seems to care.
The Elms has greeted everyone
And it has stood so proud,
Where once the people came to stay
Those days a distant cloud,
That now has blown away so far
Across the fading sky,
Forgotton as the years did pass
I watched as it went by.
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
The Grocer Man.
Mr King the grocer man
Drove his old blue shining van,Those days now gone
For everyone
Was known so far and wide,
Down each street and every lane
In the village always came,
And folk would wait
Outside their gate
For him to stop outside.
On old scales he used to weigh
Goods he sold there everyday,
With pricing tags
Brown paper bags
Were hanging on a string,
Apples,grapes and runner beans
Carrots,peas and nectarines,Leeks,plums and pear
And onions there
Bananas on a ring.
Cauliflowers and clementines
Oranges and tangy limes,
Tomatoes too
And honeydew
Potatoes new and old,
Cabbages and broccoli
Cucumbers and celery,
Sweet
apricots
Sprouts and shallots
For everything he sold.
Mr King the grocer man
Drove his old blue shining van,
Those days now gone
For everyone
Such happy times so true,
Those distant days I still recall
Even though so young and small,
The image clear
A friend so dear
The grocer man I knew.
Written by Andrew Blakemore
The Grocers Shop.
The grocer's shop has closed upon this straight and narrow lane,
Leading from the high street past the field,
Where the chilly wind did blow the ring of changes through,
The town that does no longer seem to yield.
No friendly face to welcome all people passing by,
No longer do they walk there anymore,
For now the shop is empty but its memories linger on,
As does the faded "closed" sign on the door.
The shelves forever empty now and cleared of all the stock,
Upon the glass is scrawled a "thank you " note,
To all the loyal customers so faithful to the end,
The final words that grocer ever wrote.
And now the peeling painted sign that bears the grocer's name,
As time does pass just slowly fades away,
Yet stil I see the oranges and apples placed outside,
With cabbages and carrots on display.
Written by Andrew Blakemore.
All of these poems and many more are in a book called "The Wonder is you" written by Andrew Blakemore.
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