Stott Hall Farm
By Ed Crane
- 1893 reads
White-washed walls protecting
so many generations against
the worst and best of bare-faced
Lancashire moor. Standing lonely
in a shallow valley beneath a wide
wild sky - a harsh companion to
share the view of distant industry
Burnley and Blackburn far below.
For centuries, on dark December
mornings the crow of the frigid
cockerel, the bleat of hardy sheep
and the splutter of wind blown snow
battering frozen stone were the only
sounds and on rare balmy August
days, the jingling song of the hovering
skylark, high in shimmering haze
over sheep cropped meadows.
Half-a-century ago, solid foundations
blocked the path progress chose.
Dressed stones within white-washed
walls would tumble into memory
and become a base for asphalt and
restless grass churned to quagmire.
Northern grit challenged Southern wiles
to a standstill until nature lent a helping
hand. Trapped beneath the land, bog and
bubbling beck rebuffed the wrecking balls.
An oasis within a noose of black ribbon -
more lonely than ever before. Surrounded
by endless thunder; never short of fleeting
visitors to turn their heads and stare in awe.
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Comments
I really like this. Do you
I really like this. Do you have a connection to the building, or is it something that stuck in your memory because of driving past?
Also - I think you might mean balmy, not barmy
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Well, I'd never heard of it,
Well, I'd never heard of it, and looked it up now. I enjoyed the verse too. Rhiannon
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Beautiful, Ed. Feels like a
Beautiful, Ed. Feels like a way of life and countryside threatened toward the end, by its own beauty.
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Nice and laid back, a good
Nice and laid back, a good feel to it.
Best Wishes,
HW
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