If you havenÂ’t been to Babbinswood, try to arrange it, you really should.
ItÂ’s a petrified forest now, stone stumps all around,
no leaves to cover two little children hiding aground.
Whittington is just down the road, the Three TreeÂ’s forcing you left or right.
Left passed the school and sometimes wait, for the steam engine to pass then theyÂ’d raise the gate.
Park hall next, soldiers training “one, two, three” passed the flax fields on to Oswestry.
OrÂ…you could go right to the Castle built in 1065, or was it four; well anyway it was in days of yore.
The Castle fields on the left and Ye Olde Boot Inne on the right, thatÂ’s were we spent Saturday night.
Then home, up the hill to PenyBryn, with a hoot and a yell, if we missed the road weÂ’d end up in the Shropshire canal.
Thank God the Church was straight ahead, the bells helped us on Sunday morn to get out of bed.
I used to walk to Gobowen nine miles with the gout and then on to the Glyn Valley to fish for trout.
At seven sisters, I could see the aqueduct that spanned the Gorge, and hear the Smithy in Chirk, at the forge.
I can see it and hear it as I could then, I was standing in Wales, a step, and I was in Salop again. |
