Poem - Blankney Ghosts

In 1995 I set myself the task of writing some poems about Blankney. They were never going to be great works of art but I wanted to create some small picture of how Blankney was as we headed towards the end of the 20th century. I would like these poems to survive in the hope they may be useful or interesting to future generations. Putting them in the Journal may help to ensure their preservation. The first of these poems 'Blankney Ghosts' is published below:

Blankney Ghosts

As Autumn winds grow fierce
And bend the slender birch

I see the ghosts of Blankney past

Assembled round the church

Across the fairways in the park

The wind begins to whine
And the ghosts of Blankney golfers
Send shivers down my spine
In a cold and draughty playground
Even to this day
The ghosts of Blankney children
Still gather there to play
In the wind that blows through stables
Now sadly in decay
The ghosts of hunting horses
Can still be heard to neigh
And in the swirling wind
I hear his Lordships call
And the ghosts of Blankney servants
Can still be heard in Blankney Hall
Wind blowing through the Rockery
Gusts round the rocky cave
As the ghosts of Blankney past
Gather round a horses grave
These spirits now remind me
Of the day I know I must
Leave this place behind me
Ashes to ashes dust to dust

Rodney Garlant