Where whither’d the wagon!

Where whither’d the wagon!

From off the Avon went the wagon,
 Straw dallied the air.
 Farewell the Avon wheeled the wheels,
 And whinny’d th’old mare. 
 
 Where field and furrow, copse and coppice
 Whither the wagon go?
 Who’ll steer the bulk of buck and bales
 At end of solstice glow?
 
 Betook the path and ford’d brook,
 Wheel and wagon clunked,
 Through English woods bowed boughs of oak
 Where off the warblers jumped,
 
 And sang the larks of happy lanes
 As driver drove along,
 He puffed his clay from under brim
 And mumbled to a song:
 
 « Oh fair the field you do go on,
 How long this path you lead!
 I wonder if there is an end
 To lift a golden mead.»
 
 So went the wagon over land,
 Across to other ends,
 And driver found an inn to keep
 Where ale and punt to spend.
 
 He lost his lot and pockets pinched
 Was forced to fetch the rest;
 The wagon went along with mare.
 The driver wail'd and wrest.
 
 And on return the driver low
 Was asked by landlord square:
 « Where did whither the wagon go?
 And where my dear old mare? »
 
 « Oh please forgive me dear old Lord
 I thought I could have won
 You one more wagon and one more mare
 From bastard Chobham son! »


 

So this Chobham’s son is a reference that comes from my father and uncle being Chobham boys. They were raised in a cottage in Chobham. I wrote this poem for my grandparents who still live there, at their eightieth birthday. My grandparents have lived for many years in an idyllic cottage of that village; a cottage of black painted beams, white washed walls, grand billow of a fireplace, and a thatched roof – a true folky English dwelling.

In my Grandparents’ garden under a shelter is an old hay wagon. It was traditionally used around the flow of the Avon river. It was always a mysterious object to me from the littlest age, for every time I walked by it it held a magical charm. Not just because of its antiquated nature of an era long gone, but because of its mastery of carpentry and also its evocative aspersions to fables. I have dear memories of Granny reading wonderful tales in that household to me and my brother.

And so it came to my Grandparents’ do, on their significant mark: I felt indebted to them to give them something. My idea was to simply fill in the story of how their wagon came to Chobham.