We were just twenty houses
The Vicarage and the farm.
More than a mile to the bus stop,
Solitude reigned like a charm.

By the stile and the bridge at the rithe
We walked through the fields of corn,
And the golden flags made a triumph
Of the footpath so well worn.

At five on a midsummer morning
Throughout the pasture field gate
Frank Jacobs has gone for the horses
To groom and water and build.

Queenie, Madam and Nobby
They followed him-their old friend;
The sun climbed slowly higher
At the dawn chorus end.

At six the men in the carts
Went forth to make the hay
With scythes, and rakes and pitchforks
To work through the heat of the day.

I stood to gaze in my garden
And the south-west breeze brought to me
The heavenly scent of clover
Cut hay and the tang of the sea.

Now the world has changed, and we with it.
We can think and plan with the rest
And when other villages muster
Oving will stand with the best.

New houses, new faces, new friends,
Came the W.I. and the hall
Our primrose lane has been widened
At the rushing traffic's call.

Then here's to the present and future
We march now to a rousing tune,
But I shall always remember
That scented morning in June
R. M. Hussey (Mrs)
Thatchet, Oving