Inside Their Heart
Toy’s abattoir has decayed.
Gone is the bank, E.S. & A.
One time Witton Street brickwork’s,
is grass growing over the clay.
Bruton the blacksmith has rusted.
His name on a shed disappears.
The water trough in Mackey Street,
has not seen a horse in years.
I s’pose this is meant to be progress,
tearing this village apart,
so the old folk, keep telling me,
history lives inside their heart.
The Flinders Road bakery has gone.
Maisey the butcher has too.
Eacott motors remembered by concrete,
on a block in Princes Avenue.
The produce of Follett and Pope,
along with the vital Wenns store.
The banks, green grocer and plumber,
don’t open their doors any more.
I s’pose this is meant to be progress,
tearing this village apart,
so the old folk, keep telling me,
history lives inside their heart.
The shrine to our heroes at war;
relocated and out of the way.
Ed’s milk bar where we gathered;
ivy covers the rubble today.
Idle is the old butter factory,
at one time the hub of this town.
Four timber mills once flourished.
Three of them now have closed down.
I s’pose this is meant to be progress,
tearing this village apart -
once held in the old pioneer hands,
who gave this village a start.
Some of them say they remember,
days of the old horse and cart,
so the old folk keep telling me,
history lives inside their heart.
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