From a true story told by the late Audrey Talluck.

There's Kenton Ford in Suffolk

That peaceful was, and calm.

Poor Widow Browning dwelt there,

And worked hard on her farm.

Her husband Fred was dead now,

In World War One, he'd died,

A-fighting for his country

Across the other side.

He'd left her with one daughter,

And Mary was her name,

She'd tilled the land with mother —

Until the soldiers they came.

When soldiers on their manoeuvres

Crawled oe'r the field next door

One handsome lad named Daniel,

Our pretty Mary saw.

He called her over the boundary

And asked, 'Are you free tonight?'

Shyly she told him that she was;

'I'll meet you at eight - all right?'

At eight o'clock right punctual

He came over to their farm gate.

Mary ran out then to meet him,

He'd not had very long there to wait.

He took her out to the movies,

On back of his motor bike.

And in the weeks that followed,

He entertained her every night.

Daniel, a few weeks later,

For her bad news implied.

'Next week our mob is moving,

To Salisbury Plain' — she cried.

But when the tears ceased flowing,

'I'll come with you!' she said.

'In Salisbury town I'll find some digs.

Parted, I'd soon be dead.'

When Mary left her mother,

To till the land alone,

The poor old dear worked night and day

To get all ploughed and sown.

But troubles don't come singly.

As if that weren't enough,

When tired and stiff she crawled in bed

Her ears she had to stuff.

For bikers from the city,

Found her drive a handy spot.

Up and down they brrrrmd together,

Round the house they speeded hot.

When the widow then rebuked them,

They yelled yelled out with delight,

Derided and revved their engines

Leaving her in a sorrowful plight.

She wrote then, told her daughter,

Wanting her home once more

But Mary could not be attracted,

Wanting her Daniel much more.

Her mother, in sheer desperation,

The village policeman she called

'I'm too busy to come out myself, love,

But just close your gate!' he bawled.

Their gate to the road, however,

Had long been in a sorrowful state,

So mother rang their village builder,

'I'll come in six weeks'-'twas too late.

With the gate there in bits, Mrs Downing,

Driven mad with her sheer lack of sleep,

Tied a strong rope 'cross the entrance,

Hoping thus her tranquil'ty to keep.

That night she was sleeping quite soundly,

When an ambulance siren she heard

'I wonder who that is in trouble,

It must be a car crash, my word!'

But at eight o'clock the next morning,

The village policeman came round,

He knocked at the door, and she answered,

But instead of smiling, he frowned.

'Was it you put a rope 'cross your entrance?'

She told him it was, he replied

'A biker rode int'it at midnight,

'If you're lucky, the fellow ain't died.

Mrs Browning, her conscience a-troubling,

To the hospital drove straight away

'May I see the poor man who was injured

By a rope last night in my gateway?'

The widow, surprised when nurse told her

That it wasn't just one hurt, but two,

And as she led way to intensive,

The poor woman more worried she grew.

The nurse, in the ward, indicated

Two beds near the doorway with drips

Feeding the arms of two patients,

With more tubes sticking out through their lips.

Their heads were surrounded by bandage,

Their necks in a collar were placed,

Each one had a leg placed in tension,

Mrs Browning, her guilt now she faced.

Since each one had an arm on the covers,

The widow was able to see,

That it was not two men that were injured,

One of them must be a lassie.

On her finger, the widow espied now,

A beautiful diamond ring.

'I'm surprised', thought she, 'that a biker,

Could afford such a beautiful thing.'

She walked then round to the bed-foot,

To take a quick look at her card.

She drew in her breath, almost fainting,

As she read 'Mary Browning' - twas hard.

The couple had journeyed to visit

Her mother with all their good news

The wedding, laid on for the autumn,

To surprise her they'd opted to choose.

Should you ever be down there in Fenton,

No longer works widow on land;

You may find her a-pushing a wheelchair,

Or feeding poor Mary by hand.

She also looks after Daniel,

Paralysed, can't take Mary to wife,

And all through an indiscreet action

Widow's penance lasts rest of her life.

That's not quite the end of the story,

Bikers leader proved brother of Dan,

Now calls he not widow to harass

But his brother to bath - he's a man.

Poetry by Len (Snowie) Baynes

Len (Snowie) Baynes

06.04.06 Front Page

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