The Silk Mill
Lane twins uptown streets in straight and
north-east flow,
along the Isbourne as she streams by tall trees in a row,
and daisies sunning on moss banks whence country gardens
grow,
whose rose-scent breezes bear the tunes of blackbird, robin,
crow.
Yet listen closer as ye pass twixt town and river trails,
for something stirs from yesteryear beneath the way to
Hailes,
the whirr of weaving, warning cries, a young girl’s screams
and wails,
then louder still, the Morris men, a noise to scatter
quails.
Cart House Below, the build of old to host this splendid
thrum,
with Major on melodeon and Andrews on the drum,
then Randall on the triangle while others clap and hum,
in readiness for summer, when the finest dancers come.
All flocked to Abbey Terrace on the Whitsun holiday,
competing with near townsfolk in spectacular display,
bells pealing fit to blow the ears and make ye sing and
sway,
the Winchcombe Morris side of yore that met down Silk Mill
way.
* * *
This poem was my way of thanking Happenstance for the P-i-R
invitation. I made a card and presented it to Cressida on 15th February at the
Cheltenham Folk Festival 2014.
The poem’s subtitle is, ‘after Winchcombe Calvacade,
by Eleanor Adlard’, and the subtitle of the Calvacade is, or
sidelights on Winchcombe history. I don’t own a copy of the book, but I was
able to access some useful information online, at http://www.folklife-west.co.uk/J3-winchc.pdf
(page 2, ‘An Account of the Winchcombe Morris’). Unfortunately, the ‘excellent
programme on Winchcombe Morris’ was unavailable. (Mr T. gets everywhere!)
The journal’s mention of Silk Mill Lane stirred memories of
proofreading the script of ‘Steps Through Time’ in January 2013 (http://www.fostpw.org.uk/index.php?option=com_content&task=blogcategory&id=9&Itemid=13)
for (of course!) Mr T. In Act 2, Scene 3 two main characters discuss the mill,
including the dangers involved in working there: ‘one little girl got caught
in the wheels and was carried round the machinery’, hence the ‘screams and
wails’ in my second verse.
‘The Winchcombe Morris side of yore’ is a fourteener, a poem in which
each line contains 14 syllables. I didn’t know the proper term until just now,
when I googled ‘fourteen syllable verse’! When I listen to my fourteeners, I hear a
pause at the end of each line. That results in eight beats per line, which
feels more musical to me. And, as with the previous poem, it's designed to be performed iambically, so to speak.
For further reading, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fourteener_(poetry)
and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heptameter
The voice that came to mind for this poem is a rich Gloucestershire
accent, with a bit of a chuckle after ‘quails’.
