This poem was written by William Langdon in the spring time of 1920. William was sitting on the side of Gawlers Hill looking down on the village, and he wrote:

With meadows green and trees in bloom

I gaze a while and think alone,

No city or town has drawn me yet

From Chiselborough, in Somerset.

Thy beauty seen from Gawlers side

Makes many a villager smile with pride.

When they see the apple trees in full bloom

They say to their selves, we shall have cider soon.

If you take a trip to Balham Hill

You will find those fir trees are never still,

And the sound of the Parrett is heard from the ridge

As the waters rush on and go under the bridge.

The old village church with steeple so fine

A path through the grave yard and one leading to Byme

The old people say they have seen ghosts there by night

Their tales to children filled them with fright.

The Manor Farmhouse with the farmyard below

With millpond and waterwheel, which merrily go?

Grinding meal for the sows, and cutting chaff for the cows

And a fine lot of fellows who follow the plough.

The names of the fields sound peculiar to some

For instance there’s Ham, but you won’t find a bone.

Strapp, but no leather, Yard, not three feet,

Bugs, but no fleas, and Penn Hill and Crate.

Good health to our village, this place of delight,

Everybody looks happy and merry and bright.

We have socials and dances when evenings are dark

Go to church on a Sunday and rise from bed with the Lark.

Good luck to our village, the scenery is fine

The hills in our village are lovely you’ll find

And the tower of our church is old you can see

It dates from the year about eleven thirty three.

©

June Perry, William’s grand-daughter, writes:

“I would just like to add this..”

One hundred years have passed since Granddad wrote these few lines.

How our village has altered and changed with the times.

Many houses have been built where apple orchards used to stand

Machinery has changed places with the horses on the land.

The old bridge at Byme has been replaced with the new,

The rectory that was then, no longer is used.

The Blacksmith and Bakery have long disappeared,

No longer the village school bell do we hear.

Yes, the school has now gone, our village hall it’s become.

Life seems so much faster, yet just as much fun.

Water no longer needs collecting from the well -

How the old people struggled with buckets, I’ve heard tell.

The Manor farmyard with its buildings are gone,

Converted to houses, but we’ve still got the mill pond.

Granddad’s love for our village was plain you could see,

And it’s here in my heart, so it lives on in me.

By Land Sea or Air wherever I roam

This village of ours will always be home.

For no city or town has drawn me yet

From CHISELBOROUGH in Somerset.

©

June Ann Perry (nee Langdon)

My Native Village is taken from Village Life, Poems by A. William Langdon, compiled by June Perry. All the poems of William Langdon in this book are about life in our village of Chiselborough in the early 1920’s. To purchase a copy, contact June or Tony Perry on 07808 778642 or Email tonyandjune.perry@gmail.com A small charge will be made, with the majority of proceeds donated to the Village Hall.