(This is another possible poem for the proposed book – Ten Poems about Abingdon – to be published in October 2021.)

We will make a weather book with snow on the front,
frost and rain inside, sunshine on the back.
We will make a cotton wool and toilet roll snowman,
Sing Incy Wincy Spider in January.

We will make toilet roll birds with flappy wings.
Teddy bears’ pancake day, Biscuits with sprinkles.
NO CRAFT on the day that it snows.
Sing the wheels on the bus in February.

We will make paper cup faces with cress hair,
Mothering Sunday cards with doilies and daffs,
yoghurt pots with chickens and straws.
Sing two little birds in March.

We will make paper blossom on branches with eggs,
Easter Cards with fluffy chicks,
a house and garden from catalogue cut-outs.
Sing Hickory Dickory Dock in April

We will make butterflies out of all-coloured scraps,
rainbow streamers for ABINGDON ALIVE,
smiley face plates saying LETS BE FRIENDS.
Sing What a friend we have in May.

We will make round and round the garden on a plate
with Teddy Bears on split pins,
fishes from gold and silver milk bottle tops.
Sing two little rabbits in June.

We will make a clock face with moving hands,
sandcastle, spade, bucket, boat with sails.
At Teatime Praise on the lawn
sing the wise man built his house in July

We will make Mr Men shapes: round – happy, noisy, and clever;
oval – nosey and bumpy; square – strong and grumpy.
We will put felt vegetables in a basket for harvest.
Sing Old McDonald had a farm in September.

We will make roundabouts with horses on card,
squirrels with a big pile of nuts in October.
We will make a night sky – black paper, shiny stars,
fireworks and rockets that whoosh in November.

We will make a doily angel and baby Jesus
and Mary and Joseph from playdough.
Everybody will have a part this year.
Sing The Calypso Carol in December.

Leigh has sent in this poem about Abingdon for the 10 poems about Abingdon blog project. Thankyou to her. I hope you enjoy it as I did.

On St Helen’s wharf I stand
To watch the water flow
Reflecting lives lived long ago
Closing my eyes, I feel the sun grown strong within my soul
I sense the strength of the church behind me

Across the water, a monk catches my eye
His cassock filled with holy treasure
Hours spent in scripture and pleasure
Like a kingfisher he weaves through the reeds
Flashes of crimson on a somber breeze

Make haste, the King’s men come tomorrow
We must not let the Abbey fall
We cannot let them have this all
We must listen to Our Father’s calls
And he is gone, I fear not long destined to be in his earthly world

Now here are the boats, the Thames is alive
A clamor of passengers and cargo arrives
The drinking begins, there are merry goings on
A large group of locals break into song
The smell of Morland ale overwhelmingly strong

A young boy approaches
Little blond curls, a laughing face
A familiar imprint in an unfamiliar place
Twirling his wool cap, he is clearly enjoying the day
He looks at me from years away

I bend down to speak, what is this jubilee?
He looks at me, wide eyed, I must know!
It is Michaelmas Fair
Sweet treats and games, not Latin and prayer
He skips away floating on cobbles of air

Change has come, bitterly cold
The square filled young and old
Soldiers parading
A whole town commemorating
Falling silent for those lost before today

Prayers for our men
They bow their heads and line the Thames
A war to end all wars they said then
Yet the bells tolls not once, but twice
Amen

And finally I hear
Morris men approaching near
With bells and music and Oxfordshire cheer
A whole town celebrating, salivating
Whilst buns burst down from the sky

An apricot sun sets deep over Rye Farm
Painting brushstrokes across the sky with its arm
I bid a farewell to those who have passed
And I turn to wander home
Restful at last

For this is where I hold my own memories near
And cherish those I love most dear
Where a part of me will forever be
Woven with ghosts of whispered history
Abingdon

Leigh Hogan – All Rights Reserved 2021

P.S Blogging may be a bit patchy in May as I am coming and going a lot for family reasons. So please send in what you can to help fill out the month.

Thankyou to Margaret for this poem about Abingdon. In October I will produce a book called ‘Ten poems about Abingdon’ which will include ten poems selected and edited by a local published poet.

Abingdon, Oh Abingdon, what a lovely place to live,
You’ve seen so much and have so much to give.
You started as a crossing across the river Thames,
then the monks came along and chose the spot
to build their abbey, which gave the folk a lot
of work and commerce, stability and peace,
till Henry declared that all abbeys should cease.
Chaos ensued, but in their place
Churches were built, the Market came, life went on apace.
Streets and alleyways were erected up and down
till Abingdon was declared the County town.

The iconic County Hall was erected too
and things all around were bursting with life.
Factories were built with jobs for all comers
in winter, spring and through all summers.
Wars were fought, camps were built
with local men called to fight to the hilt,
then after the war Morris cars were built.

The river flowed on, pleasure boats were seen
and Abingdon people were always keen
to catch the Thrown Buns, a novel way we note
to celebrate events. And now when another
peril threatens our lives we all work together.
We help each other with shopping and chores
as most of us cannot go outdoors.
So live on, Abingdon, your history shows
that you survived all these years
and will continue to do so, despite all our fears.

Margaret Langsford

Alone I wander by the Thames
beside the Anchor inn and
in the space between deep
night and effervescent break of day
ghostly and grey
dawn the shadows of Brick Alley
over the broad flags
next to St Helen’s church.

Across the river
birdsong greets the dawn,
indifferent to my solitude,
needing only small
glimmerings of light
dappling pearlescent water to
orchestrate yet one more time
new life in Abingdon.

Paul Sheppy
2021

Thanks to Paul for an entry. A book of poems with pictures will be produced in the autumn – to be called Ten Poems About Abingdon.