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| The Local Hall | |
  Listen to the Poet Read |
It was built in Queen Victoria's time, it's more than a century old, Some early settler donated the land - at least, that's what I was told. It used to be home to a Library once, there's still some old books on the shelves; There's nothing of value, they're faded and worn, but you're welcome to look for yourselves. The floor's not as good as it used to be once, when a dance every month was the go; The whole district would come, from oldies to kids, it kept us together, you know. And parties we had, for engagements and things, and for kids when they turned twenty- one; My own twenty-first I remember quite well, along with those of my sons. Card nights we ran to raise funds for the school, or make a few quid for the Hall. And, back in the fifties, we'd square-dancing, too; old Timothy Wright did the call. The wood-stove in the kitchen has long rusted out; my word! it used to get hot!, The four-gallon kettles have rusted out, too, and so has the cast-iron pot. There's two Honour Boards that list all of the names of the locals who went to the Wars; With a little gold cross besides each of the blokes who gave up their lives for the cause. Some of those names bring a tear to my eye, for I lost quite a few of my mates, But you never can tell, I might meet them again, when I pass through those heavenly gates! The Hall was important when I was a lad, the centre of town, so to speak; I reckon there used to be happenings there two or three times every week. But now, apart from the Badminton Team, and perhaps a school concert or play, The Hall is deserted, - it's future uncertain; a relic from earlier days.
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Web of Poets | Philip Rush | Poetry | Bibliography | A Note for the Reader | Copyright | Web Sites | |
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