Wishington Green (the flood)

Wishington Green got rained on this winter,
The weather exceptionally poor,
Mr. Stern who’s the mayor has lived there for years
Said he’d not seen it this bad before.

Now an average winter in England,
Is usually grey, cold and wet,
For precisely that reason this particular season,
The people would rather forget.

It started to rain on November the fourth,
Just before bonfire night,
It carried on raining and dampened the fires,
And none of the fireworks would light.

All of the town had gathered around,
Firemen Cinders and Ash were on hand,
The Guy had been made by the children at school,
There was even a local scout band.

Poor Mr. Stern had to break the bad news,
That bonfire night would be cancelled,
The children and parents went back to their homes,
And the Guy and bonfire were dismantled.

Into December things didn’t improve,
Christmas it rained night and day
The rain fell in sheets and flooded the streets,
And the sky was a deep shade of grey.

There’s a huge Christmas tree by the old presbytery,
That stands for the twelve Christmas nights,
The children spend hours climbing the tree,
With mistletoe, holly and lights

The Christmas of rain had taken its toll,
And the temperature started to fall,
The tree became heavy with ice on its branches,
And crashed through the presbytery wall.

The Vicar woke up, ventured out in the dark,
And stood in his slippers and gown,
He looked up to the skies; there was no great surprise,
The rain was still bucketing down.

Then came the wind, it blew from the north,
And whistled through town like a train,
It knocked signposts down, rolled them around,
Ripped doors off and blew in the rain.

It blew down fences flattening sheds,
Stripping trees of the last of their leaves,
The bronze weather vain at the top of the church,
Span through three hundred and sixty degrees.

The slow running stream that ran down past the school,
Was now turning into a river,
Poor Postman Mark had terrible trouble,
With the letters he had to deliver.

Riding his scooter in all of that water,
And mud was a terrible mess,
He didn’t know where to deliver his letters,
When the water washed off the address.

He had waterproof trousers and fireman’s wellies,
But was still getting soaked to the bone,
It was taking him hours to finish his round,
It was dark by the time he got home.

The children at school spent their break times inside,
The water had flooded their yard,
Keeping them busy wasn’t that easy
Mrs. Stern found this task rather hard.

Oliver Brown kicked his football around,
And answered the worst of her fears,
Football in class could often break glass,
This wasn’t the best of ideas.

Mr. Green sat and sat in his coat, scarf and hat,
Patiently out in the cold,
But his fruit wouldn’t sell it was too cold and dull,
And his apples were covered in mould.

He sat out by his stall in the worst of it all,
With plastic bags wrapped round his feet,
Trying to keep dry as the water rushed by,
And burbled away down the street.

Big Stan is the owner of the shop on the corner.
And the weather had dampened his trade,
Water leaked though his door and onto the floor,
Shrinking the carpet he’d laid.

The rain played havoc with his newspaper stand,
The papers curled up and went brown,
Stan spent hours per day working away,
Ironing the curly bits down

When Dusty McLeod is out and about,
He’s usually sweeping the streets,
With the weather so bad it drove Dusty mad,
He just sat there and watched it for weeks.

The only good thing to come from the rain,
Was the café did excellent trade,
Dusty would stay for most of the day,
Eating teacakes that Ernie Flower made

And the rain kept falling, it fell and it fell,
Until the end of January came,
The Wishington folk just huddled in doorways,
All they could think of was rain.

On February the first and fearing the worst,
The mayor called an emergency meeting,
‘Six thirty-town hall’, he announced, ‘one and all,
And please bring some blankets and seating’.

At six thirty sharp the people met up,
And presented their pleas to the mayor,
The school bus won’t start, our houses are damp,
And the church roof’s in need of repair.

Peter Moss who’s the gardener at Wishington Green,
Cuts the school fields at Wishington lower,
But the fields were too wet to paint on the lines,
And the water had rusted his mower.

I feel your concern said the mayor Mr. Stern
There’s one way of beating this weather,
We’ll tackle these problems one at a time,
But we have to keep working together.

Chief fire officer Ash took his turn to address,
And stood up in front of the people,
We’ll have to get boats and sand bags he said,
But tomorrow we climb the church steeple.

Everyone cheered what a brilliant idea,
But nobody really new why,
Were the Firemen to climb just to hear the bells chime?
Or perhaps for a look at the sky.

The following day it was still cold and grey,
And the firemen had climbed up as planned,
Fireman Ash gave a shout, took his telescope out,
And was scanning the lay of the land.

The people stood round to hear words profound,
From the firemen clung to the spire,
‘Every where’s flooded the firemen shouted,
But at least there’s no danger of fire’.

‘It’s bad to the north and worst to the west,
But it looks like the sand pit is dry,
We’ll head to the east where the water is least,
I’m sure we’ll get there if we try’.

Alan the builder turned up in his van,
To help with the fetching of sand,
P.C. Blue was there too with shovels and bags,
They were all keen on lending a hand.

Frank Cutter the butcher went along for the ride,
And a crowd formed to see them depart,
Alan’s old van wasn’t good in the rain,
The damp made it awkward to start.

With the water still rising it was hardly surprising,
That it took them an hour in the van,
Ok said Ash let’s fill up these bags,
And get back as quick as we can.

The men dug in the sand and blistered their hands,
Filling the bags one by one,
The sand was so wet, as soaked as it gets,
That the sandbags weighed over a ton.

With all of that sand pilled up in the van,
It was now considerably lower,
The water was now coming under the doors,
So to get back they drove even slower.

Once back in town the folk gathered round,
And the sand bags were piled in a heap,
Then built into walls and placed in shop doors,
The whole length of Wishingtons street.

With the sand bags piled high, the water raced by,
This idea had been a success,
The Wishington folk could now drain their homes,
Of the dirty flood water and mess.

Len Wheeler the bus driver was later delivered,
A brand new inflatable boat,
They’d need plenty of puff to get inflated,
Before it was likely to float.

Postie Mark had one too but his a canoe,
Made his job a much easier task,
It took half an hour to finish his round,
Canoeing the streets was so fast.

Now it’s probably safe on an average day,
To say that children would rather miss school,
But going on water was better than ever,
Rowing to school was so cool.

Len Wheeler the driver took charge of the tiller.
The school children each had an oar,
The vicar looked twice as the boat hurtled by,
That was something he’d not seen before.

Alan the builder worked harder than ever,
And decided on building a raft,
It would bridge the street from one side to the other,
His idea was far from being daft.

He constructed his raft from vegetable boxes,
Donated by old Mr. Green,
He nailed it and tied it and painted it red,
So his raft would be easily seen.

Ernie Flower and Frank cutter the butcher and baker,
Pulled the raft to their side of the street,
When the people came over to buy meat and bread,
Nobody suffered wet feet.

Poor Sally Dee runs the local Laundry
She spent most of her winter inside.
Washing the clothes was easy enough,
The problem was getting them dried.

The rain continued and the water rose higher.
The town was now more like a lake.
The mayor looked out; he was now having doubts,
About how much more rain they could take.

Then one Easter morning without any warning,
An object appeared in the sky,
The vicar looked up at this strange glowing ball,
Halleluiah! He said with a sigh.

This ball in the sky of course was the sun,
Quite hazy and not all that bright,
But the Wishington folk went out in the street,
To gaze at this wonderful sight.

Even the children at wishington lower,
Went out to the playground and cheered,
At the first sight of sun for many a month,
Behind the grey clouds it appeared.

The following day the sky was still blue,
And the beautiful sunshine still shone,
There were tiny new leaves on some of the trees
And the worst of the water had gone.

Church bells were ringing and birds started singing
And perched in the usual places,
The Wishington folk stood knee deep in water,
With ear to ear smiles on their faces.

As the water receded it left in the street,
What looked like a huge dumping ground,
There were rusting old bikes, and broken road signs,
And pots and pans strewn all around.

After three days of sun the water was gone,
There wasn’t a cloud to be seen,
Dusty Mc leoud was working flat out,
Trying to scrub the town clean.

Firemen Cinders and Ash, with their fire engine Flash,
And their faithful old station cat Moses,
Drove around town and washed the streets down,
With the powerful jet from their hoses.

Now the streets are the same as before the rains came,
And Dusty’s still keeping them clean,
But the folk still remember that terrible winter,
And the flood at Wishington Green.

©RS2013