Crowfield Poem Crowfield By Joseph Timms 1929 I'll sing a song of Crowfield A charming little spot I'll sing of her inhabitants They are a funny lot It is a disconnected place They wont give you the phone You really are a lonely race A Darby but no Joan You say that you are healthy too And doctors call in vain That cant be true, I know that you Have always got a Payne They tell me now there is a row Your milk jugs are not full You foolish folk, you've got no cow You've only got a Bull Your climate must be quite supreme Blue skies and breezes fair No wintry blizzards howl and scream For Summers always there And so you lie as warm and dry As foxes in their holes And if you're short of firing – why You've always got some Coles Then if you want to back a horse The bookie's purse to lighten A “wrong-un” you cant find of course You're sure to find a Wrighton I think you're half tea-totallers here Tho' beer you get in lorries The reasons clear, you'll find up here No Hopcroft, only Norris You haven't much society You have no squires or madams I don't believe you have an Eve But then you've lots of Adams You are a law-abiding crew No “bobbies” need inspect you You're far superior, you Have Roberts to protect you Then if you should be short of sauce Or jam or pickles lack, well I know you haven't got a goose But then you have a Blackwell Now just a word to hunting men ( A sport some peoples shock ) Just put in here, and never fear You're sure to find a Fox Yes Crowfield is as nice a spot As ever you set foot on I'm sorry but I haven't got A word to rhyme with Wootton Now if you're asked “Who wrote this verse What silly ignorant fool?” Just say “ Don't curse, it might be worse 'Twas Mister Lymuth's mule! “ Also see Syresham My Home and Syresham - a Merry Medley