| Flackwell Heath, on Chiltern hills, Once rose above the paper mills And Juniper and Treadaway Were daily routes for village pay, The lace making of former times That forced the tinker to these climes Is now no more, the work has gone But such is life, time moves along. The Heathens, now, their jobs to seek May take them from their homes each week But when their hard-earned wage is won They’re glad their work in town is done, For tranquil is the Flackwell pace, There really is no better place, They’re proud to be a Heathen soul So say the young, so say the old. The valley folk, from towns below, Once climbed these hills not long ago To see the orchards in full bloom, Past heathlands full of yellow broom, And when the cherries, juicy ripe, In pies were cooked to taste each type Our Cherry Sunday came to be A special day of jollity. And cherry fayres of yesteryear Are held again in Flackwell here, Though milk churns at the farmer’s gate No longer stand in line and wait, The spring that flowed along the lane Is still remembered in its name, And where the traffic dashes by Fresh water trickles to the Wye. The distant view of river Thames, A silver ribbon as it bends, Still glides along the valley floor Just as it did those years before, And starlings, tits and sparrowhawks, And wildlife found on woodland walks, And glow worms seen along the lane Still tell us life is much the same. |
And though the shops are larger now, And houses stand where stood the plough, There on the Common, carved in stone, The lives long lost to save our own, These names of Heathens still abound On Chiltern hilltops all around And locals of the pubs still bear The names of sons still living there. John Sarney too, of riot fame, His presence lives within a name, For Sarneys, new, recall his cost The fight for fairness that was lost, And Griffiths blood is still here now, And Lantern Cottage, on the brow, Was once their one-up, one-down home For growing crops on Flackwell loam. And Chopstick Alley, now re-named, Was where the Heathens, now re-trained, Chopped up sticks for charcoal making From the woods here for the taking, While others answered factory calls Or made rush seating for St Pauls, And chairs of many Heathens still Were bought from people down the hill. Two schools now educate our young But still the fields provide them fun While older folk can breathe the air In our green spaces, here and there. Our church and chapels usher in Flackwell’s newest brethren From christenings to sad goodbyes The village welcomes all new lives. And we have groups to stimulate Be you eighty or just eight, And that’s the way we like to be This Flackwell Heath community. So let our lanes and footpaths be, Keep the free range eggs for tea, Keep the spirit of the Heath And save us from the towns beneath. |
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Sally Scagell Peace
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