George Withers, that great old Somerset singer died last week. George was also, like his father before him, a poet. This seems an appropriate thread to post one of George's poems (which was also the title track of his CD) as a memorial.


THE LAND REMAINS (George Withers)

I remember - I remember the place where I was born;
'Twas full of cows and heifers then, and sheep and pigs and corn.
But the country scene is changing; the folks are changing too,
And farming's very different from the farming that I knew.

No geese are on the village green, no ponies are on the moors,
No cock crows on the dunghill now, the hens are all indoors,
The school's become a second home, the pub is closing down,
And the village shop just can't compete with Tesco's in the town.

The dairy herd is long dispersed, the quota's out on lease,
And the farmhouse sold to clear the debts and please the mortgagees;
And Father drives a lorry now, and Mum does B&Bs
In a semi on the new estate beyond the churchyard trees.

And there's new folk in the old place now; I don't know what they do,
But he's something in computers and a real nice fellow too.
They come to village functions; she's joined the W.I.;
They've not much clue as to what to do, but it must be said,they try!

Now the garden's graveled over - it's a TV gardener's dream
With flowers in terra cotta pots and a switch-on wildlife stream;
The rockery's a mockery of what was there before,
And the polystyrene staddle stones - well, they're the final straw!

No rows of spuds and carrots now, no runner beans and peas,
No cabbages, no rhubarb, no children climbing trees.
There's a four bi' four for Daddy and an Audi for his wife;
There's lots of Country Living - but no real country life!

But dawn still rises in the East, the sun still sinks in the West;
We come, we try, we live, we die, we work, we eat, we rest,
But love or hate the system, whoever holds the reins,
Let others learn - we've had our turn - and still the land remains.