The Signalman’s Lament

The Marples axe has fallen and Beeching’s rammed it home,
Brackley signal box is finished, the GC line is doomed.
Tis the 13th day of June now and the signals are
crashing down.
Whoever would have thought it, that this would be my lot?
My reference book is clean and I haven’t got a blot.
If this day is what they call progressing,
then I am glad I’m getting old.
Why then for the next generation,
Oh Lord, what will unfold?

Len Wills, redundant signalman, who lived in Church Street. (From: Talkabout, Spring 1985)


Helmdon - Days Gone By

As I stand
I see him still,
Though he’s gone to rest at last beside the old yew tree.
The stables, too, are all knocked down for Church Street 43.
New houses occupy the shells of barns,
And cows no longer walk the road;
Cars parked in rows now take their place.
The stream has long grown cold.

I stand and watch,
I see them all,
But just in my mind’s eye.
As these pass by
Does Helmdon die
A little – or do I?

J Bazeley (From: Talkabout, Spring 1987)


Helmdon 2020

It was early January we first heard
An infectious disease had occurred
We read in the news the virus began
In a region of China called Wuhan

The virus spread across the world
Its deadly tentacles already unfurled
Our government warned us not to ignore
As the pandemic reached our UK shores

The advice from Boris "stay safe, stay at home"
You may exercise daily not far to roam
And for 20 seconds wash your hands
Not too difficult to understand

In Helmdon we look forward to reopen our school and clubs
The Tuesday cafe, luncheon and of course the pub
As friends and neighbours at last we meet
And together this virus we will defeat.

Lee Alfandary (From: Lockdown, Lowdown Reminiscences 2020)


Helmdon - Days Gone By

Cows amble sedately down the shimmering road,
Laden udders swaying in time with the ponderous step
Nearby, Shortlands stands crowded with
lazing short thick-set bullocks,
While overhead rooks squabble in majestic ancient elms.

The village bobby cycling heavily up the brief hill,
Puffing, stops every now and then to chat to each in turn.

The occasional child fetching water from the old iron pump
primes it skilfully, at length to be rewarded,
By a cool torrent of distinctive water,
Yielded from unknown recesses of the limestone rock beneath.

The cricket match at school, as always, ended by
The steady and impartial engine of the 3.40 freight
Passing the “distant” signal post on the old Great Central line.
And further off a fussier tank engine on the SMJ
Takes its lesser load, under the soaring viaduct
Up Helmdon Bank, past Cockley Brake to Banbury, Merton Street.

Ivy, the council steam roller, tirelessly moving back and forth, Adding to the searing heat as she crushes golden gravel.
Men stripped to the waist, strangers
with new ways and a coarse language,
Working with heavy forks amid the pungent smell of boiling tar.

In the evenings, the village men toiling, but at a steadier rate,
On the allotment whose cops will keep the table
laden through the year;
Restful in its way, as the day cools and swifts wheel high above,
A labour of love except that of fetching
water from the nearby well.
Jerry Gascoigne, stubbornly the last to keep his horse and cart, Pauses, on his way home, with an air of
wisdom from an age gone by.

J Bazeley (From: Talkabout, Spring 1987)



My First Impressions of Helmdon

I was not over enthusiastic about moving from the North to the South but since my arrival in Helmdon I have had no cause to regret our move. From the day we moved in the village everybody has been so tremendously friendly. This brings me to the conclusion that the people of Helmdon have a warmth that is hard to discover in many other areas. There is an amazing community atmosphere. The village intends to make every occasion lively and of course different.

The village is kept extremely tidy with some of the most beautiful gardens to be discovered in any region. Every crevice of Helmdon has something new and delightful. Its little streets with quaint little cottages provide a true English village of atmosphere.

A wonderful little church is situated on the hill which is decorated with an array of beautiful flower arrangements. It is indeed a church to be proud of. Although I have lived in many village in Britain, never have I found such a village and never have I been so happy.

Sara Jane Trumper (From: Talkabout, Autumn 1984)


Helmdon

Helmdon is a very active village. It has a carnival every year which is good for a laugh. The theme this year is "Songs” I think. There is a cub pack and a scout troop. They go sailing and have knockout tournaments. There is also a Brownies and Guides. The school goes on outings which are brilliant and they do plays which are always a success. The school owns a field which anyone is welcome to play on. I have some really nice friends. I think it’s an excellent village.

Thomas Sykes (aged ten) (From: Talkabout, Spring 1986)


Conservation

In Helmdon we are lucky because we have fields and wildlife. The school have got a conservation area down by the old railway. On Mondays all of Class 1 go into the Conference Room in the school and either write about wildlife or go down to the conservation area. Mrs Worrall looks after the conservation area with the children. When the children go into the Conference Room they talk about encouraging wildlife and flowers to the area. There are some foxes and one or two badgers down there. There are lots of rabbits as well. There are lots of other mammals in the area too.

Partrick Gartside, 3rd year Juniors. (From: Talkabout, Spring 1986)


Helmdon Lament, 1997

What have they done to our homes, Ma?
What have they done to our homes?
They've priced them up and sold them off -
And sold them off to Sloanes,
Ya! That's what they've done to our homes!

What have they done to our lane, Ma?
What have they done to our lane?
They's filled it up with 'Executive Homes',
And driven us all insane,
Ma - What have they done to our lane?

What have they done to our school, Ma?
What have they done to our school?
Well, it's cramming kids for Eton now,
Can't you see the Yuppies rule, Ma?
What have they done to our school?

Can you remember why we came, Ma?
Can you recall why we first came?
It was the peace and calm, the country charm -
Oh, ain't it all a shame, Ma?

What HAVE they done to Helmdon?

Joy Webb (From: Talkabout, Autumn 1987)


Helmdon

It lies in a valley.
From parts it can't be seen.
They call the village Helmdon.
It used to be Elmdene.

But things have changed and time moves on
And old friends are no more
but singing can be heard still Behind the old church door.
They closed down both the stations
where once the village thrived
But Helmdon stood that sadness and will always be alive.

Anon (From: Talkabout, Spring 1988)

THROUGH OTHER EYES

There is something about this village

But I can’t put it into words.

I call it the “Spirit of Helmdon”

Day breaks to the song of the birds.

Mother nature provides a haven

Where small creatures may safely hide

Where squirrels go searching for acorns

And sun–loving dragon flies glide.

The cuckoo’s call rings through the woodlands.

Bluebells bloom at the forest edge.

There’s a robin‘s nest almost hidden

In the ivy beneath the hedge,

Where the hedgehogs rustle and forage,

Bob-tailed rabbits frolic and play

And where field mice feast in the wheat fields

In the warmth of a summer day.

Of course, it may be just the people,

Village folk we all know so well

But the mystery of Helmdon’s magic

Perhaps there is no-one can tell.

Those who live here are kind and friendly,

They greet you with smiles in the street.

There’s a school full of happy children

And a Pub  where the grown-ups meet.

Just one old-world Pub is still open.

We must never let it be lost

Or part of the heart of the village

Will be gone and we’ll all count the cost.

Too magic of the magic has vanished

From the past that enthralls us still ….

The Post Office, Railways and Blacksmith

And what’s left of an ancient mill.

The old Church has guarded her village

For the best part of a thousand years,

While her bells ring across the meadow

A witness to life’s  joys and tears.

For lovers come here to be married

And old-timers say their goodbyes

This place where we come to remember

Is perchance where the secret lies.

Stone cottages may stand forever,

In the Churchyard an ancient yew.

Although we don’t notice it happen,

The old is replaced by the new.

While the magic we feel is changeless

Time and people just pass on by.

It is not what is built or added

But the trees,  the fields and the sky.

Fresh buds will appear in the Springtime

A new season –  a new rebirth.

There will be yet another harvest,

It’s the way of Old Mother earth.

Spring soon becomes glorious summer

The season of flowers and sun,

Of dusk and the long summer evenings

A stroll when the day’s work is done.

Summer days give way to the autumn…

Golden season of falling leaves.

Then winter and Christmas and snowdrops

When icicles hang from the eaves.

As long as this old world keep turning

And the seasons still come and go

Our history – this “spirit of Helmdon”

Will live on forever, we know.

Joan McCann

August 2010

First published in Talkabout Autumn 2006

Joan lived in Helmdon as a child, a daughter of the Rector.  She has lived in Australia for many years, but up until a few years ago regularly returned to Helmdon where she says her heart lies.