Great Grandfather Albert Hawley wrote some 'lines' to the "Members of the Farley Hill Y.P.S.C.E." on February 9th 1897.
Grandad Walter Ash wrote a few poems on nature and his family. In April 2011 my brother scanned some pages of a book of poems Grandad had hand written.
My mother and father have both written poems and booklets.
My daughter Megan is studying creative writing and is writing stories and novels.
And after buying Megan a writing magazine, I started writing poems and short stories! So here are some of the families writings.
Willie dear, my sister said to me,
I'm tired of living on a farm, a Princess I will be.
I'll go to town and there I'll stay
And I shall be the Queen some day.
But Sis, that cannot be, I thoughtfully replied.
You've never been content since our poor mother died.
But if you go away like this and leave us - me and dad,
Though life is such a struggle now, things will then go bad.
So stay with us my Sissy dear and keep the home together,
Let's live the dear old country life
Through fine and rainy weather.
And be content with our small lot:
This quiet life and our humble cot.
Yes it's all right you telling me
Not to go there the sights to see.
A guest to be, nice robes to wear
And luxury with the queen to share.
But always here it is so quiet.
I wear this dress from morn to night.
New faces I can never see
And happy I shall never be.
But Sissy if you will but stay
I'll tell you of another way
How you can be a smart Princess
And wear so beautiful a dress.
I'll tell you how this cottage small
May be as grand as Marble Hall
And how this country-side may ring
With praise unsung by many a king.
You need not go into the city's crowd
To be a lady fine and proud
For God is here, the King of kings is He!
And you by loving Him a beautiful Princess may be!
And with kindly deeds to me and dad,
A helping hand to someone who is sad,
Joys that mount up far more than gold
Will be your lot with happiness untold.
Poor Sis she hung her head awhile
But presently she raised it with a smile
And said, Thanks Willie, I'm so glad
You made me think of you and dad.
I'll swill the yard and feed the kine
And still I'll be a lady fine.
Dressed in a robe of righteousness
Indeed a Royal High Princess!
"Lines to the Members of the Farley Hill Y.P.S.C.E., by A. Hawley, Feb. 9th, 1897"
A word to you my brother Christian, and my sister endeavourers too
One brief word of exhortation : Try and save just one or two.
There are men and there are women, there are young and there are old,
Going on to outer darkness to eternal woe untold.
Do not sit at ease in Zion while this multitude goes by,
Never thinking, never caring of the harvest by and by.
Rise and speak to my dear brother entering in at death's wide gate;
Rise and speak to your own sister, ere it be too late, too late.
Speak to them of Christ your Saviour, who, to redeem them from all sin,
Died on Calvary's rugged mountain, rose triumphant from the tomb.
So that when the Master calleth you and me to go up there,
We may not go empty handed, but with sheaves both sweet and fair.
We may gather round His footstool and receive the grand, "Well done!"
Come ye blessed of my Father, and sit down upon His throne.
You have toiled and laboured with me to redeem a world from sin,
Come, partake the joys of heaven, enter in, oh! enter in.
"Letters to Marjorie when at Holmfirth, from her father"
(Written about 1937)
For once a woman has dried up, and has no more to say!
There's still some ink left, just a sup, and the pen still holds the sway.
Maybe there's things she'd tell you better if you yourself were here,
Instead of writing in a letter - her spellings bad, I fear.
So I must try and tell you how we're faring here at home,
How everything is going now until next time you come.
Well first of all there's Mother dear, she's just devoured her choc'.
I am sitting very near, but she's ate the blinking block!
Oh no! I've made a big mistake, she's just passed me a lump,
I thought she'd had the entire cake, but she's turned out a trump!
So much for Mother, now we'll see what we can say of Eve.
She's rather deep you know, and we never know what's up her sleeve.
But up to now she's all alone, and resting on the shelf,
And after her day's work is done, she (perhaps) goes out by herself.
And then there's Mabel, I'll take a care of her just what I say or
else she'll go off in a flare! (She cooked our dinner today.)
Now Raymond, young man, front rank, getting quite a manny bloke,
He buys Woodbines just for swank, "Oh no! He doesn't smoke!"
And Joe, now what of him to say, it nearly draws my tears.
It was dinner-time today before he'd washed his ears.
And now we come to Betty love, a baby still I fear,
For by the little stars above, she's spoilt, or very near.
She wanted me to clean her shoes on Sat'day, and I wouldn't.
You should have heard the boo-hoo-hoo's when I told her that I couldn't
Well that's the lot, I've used a sheet and just a bit I think.
So here's ta'ra until we meet next time with pen and ink.
P.S. Ar' forgot mesen' but never mind, I'll tell thee when Ar' see thee.
And p'raps till then, this ink and pen will show Ar'm not so seedy!
As Fragile as a Sunset
Twilight - the onset of night.
The daylight is fading.
The sun sets in a glory which silences our words,
holds our attention for a few fragile minutes
like an evening prayer
And then is gone.
It leaves behind that evening star
like a lonely lantern
Shining before a curtain of blue
with it's promise of
A new day to come.
A new day,
Yet just as fragile as the sunset.
Each moment to be filled
It's variety a wide expanse of colour
Making life something precious
For life is fleeting
With each passing day.
It never returns
In quite the same way,
but brings forth a new sunrise
every moment has it's meaning.
If lived to the glory of God.
The hilltop's aglow
with crimson snow
The lovely dawn
has made the morn
a thing of beauty
a joy to know.
The surge of life
A leaf will fall
A tear will drop
Unseen by all
The leaf becomes the sod
The tear a sorrow past
And all is known to God.
Life and death, death and life,
God gives to all new breath.
Walter Ash +- 1937
Did you hear the blackbirds
sing sweetly in the breeze?
Or was it bird profanities
at breakfast's bread and cheese?
Did you hear the dove
cooing softly in the trees?
Or was it laryngitis
that maybe made him wheeze?
Did you see the squirrel
playing tag with baby brother?
Or was that p'raps the rebel
escaping from the mother?
Is all nature quite as perfect
as we make it out to be?
Or is it laughing back at us
taking the Mickey and liberties?
London, Autumn 2008
Have you ever stood ....?
Have you ever stood
on a dark and cloudy night,
at the gate to a farmer's field
and watched the moon
play hide and seek
with Venus and Mars and Earth?
Have you ever stood
on a warm Autumn night
At a country farm's harvested field
and listened to the sounds
of silence and quiet
and drowned in the peaceful still air?
No dog's howl, bark or whine.
No bats, no moths, no 'squitos or midges,
But the ringing in your ears.
Pennsylvania Farm, Bath, September 2009
Another man's world
The huge round sphere is nearing the end of his days.
His strength now spent and sapped.
His memory no longer as sharp and bright,
His power and use fades away.
He sometimes forgets to step out in the day,
And sometimes seems too weak to care.
His fans still welcome his faint hint of a smile -
The pessimist waves him goodbye.
And although it feels to us like he's dying,
It's only a game in the universe plan.
For he lives forever, as bright and as smiling
In another man's world
Another world's man.
London, December 2008
Autumn in the north
It's Autumn in the North.
Nature is dying.
The Heaven's recede.
The skies are threadbare.
The sun plays an encore
and my brow feels
the gentle warmth
of the summer performance.
Rose Kelland, London, September 2008
The eternal winter gave up his spirit.
Succombed to higher blues and blinding rays.
A reluctant exit with gentle tears,
gloomy looks and grumbling blows.