Poem by H.S. Baker - about 1930
In Harwell we're all keen on cricket,
And boast of our beautiful wicket.
We bowl we bat, while Frank Snuggs in "his hat"
From the boundary implores us to "stick it".
In Harwell from "Donkey" to "Chequers"
We're none of us Bolshevic wreckers,
But we try all our might, to do the polite,
And we take off our hat to our betters.
We've a beautiful Church and a Chapel.
We produce both the cherry and apple.
We put money in tins, to keep brethren from sins,
And we drive to the station with Crackle. (Landlord of White Hart)
Our vicar is one of the best,
We endeavour to do his behest,
He's no use for a Jag, but with his black bag,
He comforts us when we're distressed.
Our doctor's a man among men, (Dr Rice)
Though he's nearing his three score and ten,
He's down on the "tiddly" and drives in a "Siddeley"
But uses bad words now and then.
On the heights of Winnaway hill,
Assisted by Corduroy Bill,
At dawn or before, you will find Mr Storr,
Giving a Leghorn a pill.
I now come to Schoolmaster Jeal,
Who performs all his duties with zeal,
Don't try to complain when he takes out his cane,
For you'll find there's no court of appeal.
At Townsend we have Mr Joe Lay,
But remember that on Saturday,
He cannot make fixtures, he's due at the pictures,
"Third return" – Reading, hooray!
A fine leader of ringers is Walter, (Hitchman)
Who the passage of time does not alter,
Though from Scotchamore Knob, you can hear him shout - "Bob",
Through a "Cambridge surprise" he won't falter.
Our brewer’s a man of good cheer, (Stanley Greenwood)
And the ladies say "Oh, what a dear",
He has cheeks like the rose, but you're wrong to suppose,
That has any connection with beer.
Should you pass down the Grove Road at night,
You are apt to have rather a fright,
For his features all malice with poor Teddy Harris,
Mr Ellis is chasing the blight.