A Tour of our Village 2

A Tour of our Village

The Village has its own clock, for to tell the time,

On the tower of St Chads, every half hour it does chime,

This its done for many years, and to wind it up you climb,

Three big weights on cables, crank it many times.

In the tower set in oak frame, sit its ringing bells,

Ropes and wheels for swinging, its congregation tells,

Come to church for service, to have your sins expelled,

All the parish can hear them, peal of Village bells.

The vicar has his job to visit, all parish elderly and the sick,

Take all the Sunday services, with sermon long and epic,

Christmas Easter Harvest, Christenings funerals and weddings quick,

He is kept so busy looking after, all village elderly and sick.

Out and down the church path , is the village green,

Under the lych gates, standing all serene,

Looks a little weathered, for all the years its been,

Guarding the church yard, on the village green.

Also on Seighford green, was the village pump,

Standing in the corner, on a grassy hump,

To prime it work the handle, almost had to jump,

Water all the cottages, from this well and pump.

Across the road to educate, is the village school,

Teacher at the blackboard, sitting on a stool,

There to help the children not to be a fool,

Basic reading writing, maths in the village school.

Further down the village, was the blacksmiths shop,

Making all the horse shoes, on the anvil hot,

Hammer always ringing, shaping metal without stop,

Give the horses new shoes, to make them clip and clop.

Undertaker in the village, is at the wheelwrights shop,

Lays out and measures them, makes the coffin non-stop,

His brother digs the grave, and family lines the coffin

All the week they make farm carts, in the wheelwrights shop

Next again is Holly Bush, our local village pub,

As well as drink you can get if hungry, a little bit of grub,

For a gathering of the locals, this was the hub,

News and gossip turned around in the village pub.

Down at the post office, in the village shop,

Sells all essentials, also chocolate sweets and pop,

Letters parcels postal orders, have a hefty whop,

Rubber stamp saying Seighford, in the village shop.

The postman comes on his bike to visit, six days of every week,

Delivering post and parcels, each morning his bike it creaked,

Collecting all the gossip while, having cup of tea he’d speak,

All about what he’d learned, on his round six days every week.

On all the farms they have cows, and they produce the milk,

Beef and chickens hens and geese, sheep with fleece smooth as silk.

They have mixture of everything, corn for cows and pigs,

Hay and roots, rolled oats, peas, feed the cows produce the milk.

In all the cottages were the families, men who work the land,

Herdsmen, wagoners, and those to anything can turn their hand,

Early start in all weathers, generally a happy band,

They work late at harvest time, all these men who work the land.

Owd Fred