Rodborough Fields For Ever

Rodborough Fields:  The Curse is Lifted

A piece of parchment flew through an open window of the bus today and landed on my lap. It was entitled   THE CURSE IS LIFTED.  I have made a transcription.

As you won’t be building on this field,

Springs will no longer o’er-turn your water table,

Peasants will not harrow your dreams,

Nor cut ridges in your anxious brow.

As you won’t be building on this field,

Weavers will suspend their moonlight riots,

And the stretching of your nightmares on tenterhooks;

The turning of your eyes Stroud Scarlet is held in abeyance.

As you are not building on this field,

The Frome will not burst its banks,

For it has no need to flood your conscience with remorse,

Leaching stains of turbid regret.

As you will not be building on this field,

Grass will not grow in your pockets,

Celandine will not gather in your bank vaults,

Weeds will not spread through your account books.

As you will not be building on this field,

The beer will flow up the Albert,

People will wander the common,

Or walk into town, feeling the pulse of the earth.

The ghosts of Christmas Past will gather,

In the lanes and hollow ways and footpaths,

And drink a toast to the indefatigable defenders

Of Rodborough Past, Present and Future.

Thank you Mike Johnson and all the gang,

Where would we be without you?