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In Norfolk, partly in the Fens, and betwixt two Wolds
Lies Feltwell, a parish of some thirteen 1-undred souls.
An ancient place and charming, and needless to proclaim
A healthy place for truly, it bears a healthful name.
Some there are of ninety, there's a centenarian,
A sturdy old gentleman, a hale and hearty man.
Of eighty there are many; while seventy just brings
A Feltwell man his freedom from Mother's apron strings.
The Feltwell folk are kindly: come of a fine old race
Of Norfolk men and women; the girls are fair of face,
And young men's hearts, I fancy, are apt to miss a beat
When they meet them at the dance or pass them in the street.
There's a Parson and Doctor, Schoolmaster and Plumber,
And many- other trades; too many, far, to number.
Of buildings: the're two Churches, a Chapel, School and Hall,
Aerodrome, Public Houses, some six of them in all.
Cinema and Almshouses, known as the Widows' Row,
Though Widows, strictly speaking, have but a house or so.
The parish for a boundary has the Devil's Ditch;
It cuts across the Brandon Road - a weird spot at which
Strange sights are seen come midnight, so I have heard it said;
An hour when all honest folk are warmly tucked in bed.
Also in the Borough is another gruesome sight,
The ghost of some poor woman walks at the dead of night.
The're other things to mention - the charm of the people,
Poppylot, St. Nicholas, the fall of the Steeple,
Star-naked Close, Shrub Hill, the famous Oak and Elm Trees;
But time and space forbid me to give account of these.
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