In 1951 Phyllis Dawson Clark wrote a poem about the River Ock that flows throgh the Vale of White Horse to Abingdon. Here is the first stanza:
Down from the chalky range of Berkshire hills
Stamped with the cave-man’s god, a lean white horse;
Through rustling cornfields, by a dozen mills
Whose wheels are long since rusty, and across
A thistle wast where winter storms have laid
To rest the hollow trunks, where brittle rot
Harbours the comfrey seedlings that have strayed;
Where centuries of blue forget-me-not
Have sighed away their days unseen, alone,
And sprays of blushing dog-rose bend to kiss
Their own reflection in a pool that’s known
A thousand summers just as sweet as this, —
By the wild rhubarb leaves and giant dock,
Under the willow arches flows the winding Ock.
The Mill Stream was the first blog entry I did about Abingdon ten years ago today. I intended writing a blog about Abingdon in 2006 for one year, and called it Abingdon 2006, but then in 2007 I carried on with The Abingdon Blog. So now it is ten years old.