The aim of this site is to promote the work of Reg
Holmes of Norley, Cheshire.
|
Use Scroll Bar to navigate this page
Eddisbury Hill (Yedsbry)
 |
As I strolled out one evening in the pleasant month of May, I strayed along a forest track, hard by the Sandstone way. I sat me down on an old grey stone on Yedbry's grassy height, And dreamed of days so long ago, in the fading evening light. I saw the Celts who raised the fort in defence against their foe, How they felled the trees to line the ditch two thousand years ago. I heard the sound of battling men, and tramp of Roman feet, As the Legion came to clear away a threat to Watling Street. Sweet Saxon speech was next I heard, with Celt and Roman gone, The years slipped by and place names changed to "Ham" and "Ley" and "Ton" The sounds of War again I heard, in Aethel Faleda's reign, As Alfred's daughter cleared the ditch in defence against the Dane. The feudal Earl next chanced my way, and a Norman proud was he, All lands he claimed as hunting grounds, T'wixt Weaver and Gowy, He ruled the wild with savage law, Hugh Lupus was his name, And woe betide a Saxon churl, that poached his lordships game. The seventh Earl died, and no male heir, to him was ever born So he lost his land, and the Kings leigeman then blew the hunting horn. The Black Prince built his hunting lodge, on Yedsbry's breezy height, And the woods they rang, with the hunting cries of Prince and Lord and Knight. Next Cheshire archers passed me by, each a bow on shoulder bore, For sixpence a day they'd sworn on oath, to serve at Agincourt. Three centuries on, King Charles's men fled by the Sandstone Ridge, Midst Mara's trees they'd sought refuge, from defeat at Winnington Bridge. Now you may scoff and you may doubt, these tales I've told to you, But this old grey stone still lies there, and you may dream their too. But keep awake, beware of sleep, lest you waken stiff and chill, Bewitched by ghosts that haunt these woods round Eddisbury Hill. |