Topic ID 7300
as promised finally got round to typing it. From his book Lobs Lyrics. The Old Mill It was Sunday morning and the old mill slept. The deep, peaceful sleep that comes to old men who are content to go on doing the honest work they have done all their lives. He was not conscious of noise for the blast shook him before he woke: shook him and stripped off his weatherboards and lifted his roof. “Gosh!” he said, and braced himself in case it came again: but it was over: so he shrugged his broad shoulders and the joist settled down in their beds and the roof ceased to tremble. “So that’s a ‘doodle-bug’ ” he murmured “Worse than the Zeppelin of 1915” “What do you think of that, young Brother?” he cried to the building who had stood beside him for some 30 years, who had been so proud of his bricks and concrete and iron girders and had gloried in his great strength: BUT THERE WAS NO ANSWER. “That must have been the strange noise I heard afterward” and the old mill looked out anxiously from one of his broken windows: but there was nothing to be seen. His brother, beaten to his knees by the first blast, had fallen flat on his face. “Last time the Zeppelin killed three of our horses. I was sorry for that. Especially the grey mare who used to talk to me on Sunday mornings when I was not working and all was quiet. . It’s the first time I have been glad we gave up horses” “How are the lorries over there?” he called but there was no reply. “I can’t see you are you alright?” he shouted. He waited to listen, and it was then he noticed the changed song of the River. “What has happened to you River?” I know it is Sunday and you are not “headed up” for work , but your little song sounds as if the “ground gates” are drawn and we are not expecting floods” “Didn’t you know?” laughed the river. “The blast burst the five top gates and it came up the culvert and smashed the two big ones beside you. I’m on holiday now till they put in new gates. I can ripple and laugh and do as I please till they chain me again” “You’ll soon grow tired of that” said the wise old Mill “and be glad to help me again with my work” Sadly but proudly the old Mill took stock of himself. “Good job I was timber built” he mused “My old beams have been used to stress and strain all their lives. Grew up to it as trees, and English trees at that. Damage seems to be only skin deep. New weatherboards, some old tiles and a lick of paint and I can be at work again. “Hundreds of years, maybe thousands, anyway before every they built the first castle up the river, a mill stood where I stand now and it won’t be an enemy from without that will down me……….” “And that is a thought that is worth considering” He shrugged his broad shoulders again and the joists and the rafters settled down more cosily in their beds and then, since there was nothing else to do, in perfect confidence, he composed himself to sleep till the builders and the mill-wrights should come. War Honours . 1915 Bombed by Zeppelin 1943 Coy H.Q. for one night 1944 Blitzed by a doodle-bug