Spirit of Frodsham
It's there but you can't see it.
It turns the blades of the windmills
above the roofs of the houses.
There it is, walking the sandstone trail
then returning down Middle Walk
to the sound of bells.
It conjures chandeliers from bare trees,
turns the branches outside the church
into a festival. It whispers to the toddler
wobbling at the top of the high slide:
you can do this. You pass a friend
in Eddisbury Square - it flashes
from one face to another. There it is,
glancing along the bar in the Bear's Paw,
or the Ring O'Bells, passed over the counter
in Morrisons or Cowards. And here
the children come, full of it, out of school.
This is a place where it grows,
it's been growing a long time. Froda,
by the Weaver, building a stockade
for his beasts, edging his rough patch
with a hem of safety, wrapping it round
his children. The first shopkeepers,
setting out stalls on their burgage plots,
and the farmers bringing carrots
on a Thursday, to a street that was wide
enough to give it room to breathe.
Keep it breathing, keep it shining.
It's an earth-heart, a hearth. It's ours.
This poem was commissioned by Mallie Poulton
during his mayoral year
Reproduced by kind permission of
Andrew Rudd
April 2017
Images reproduced by kind permission of local artists
Castle Park House, Helena Mullholland, Watercolour Pen Nov 2017
.jpg)
Castle Park House, Winter Christmas Scene, (Bernice Barrett Brown)
Neill Binns, Weaver Bridge
The Old Hall painted by Claudia Cockcroft
Fratsum Alphabet
A is fer Axin’ fer summat tha’s not gotB is fer Borkin’, childer do it a lot
C is fer Clawpin thee butter on bread
D is fer Dancers, tha goz to bed
E is fer ‘Essole, tha sits rind at neet
F is fer Flummoxed, tha can’t get it reet
G is fer Gawliss – actin’ th’ fool
H is ne’er used, except when in school
I is fer Ikin’, like a kie wi’ its ern
J is fer Juft, can fair gie thee a turn
K is fer Kebbly, it rocks quate a bit
L is fer Lossack – tha does nowt but sit
M is fer Mard, it means ‘soft as muck’
N is fer Nonk tha gets fer givin’ owd buck
O is fer Occud – not seef on thee feet
P is fer Puthree, tha can fair feel thee feet
Q is fer Quayat – shurrup an be still
R is fer Rammy, ne’er ‘as a swill
S is fer Slotherin’ thee feet on th’ flewer
T is fer Torm, that’s when tha faws o’er
U is fer Unyun, that likes boilt in a pot
V is fer Varmint, a mace or a rot
W is fer Weeges, when tha gets thee dosh
X is fer Hexlunt, when tha tries t’ talk posh
Y is fer Yoskin’ – can put thee t’ bed
Z if fer Zonk, means a clite ‘rind thee yed
This poem was kindly sent to the Frodsham Neighbourhood Plan by Martin Sadler.
His grandmother who lived in Five Crosses, Overton, used to recite it to him when he was a child.
Images reproduced by kind permission of local artists
.jpg)
Acrylic Painting by John Gallon (Main Street 2018)
Castle Park Arts Centre, watercolour by Roland Brandom
Castle Park House Watercolour by Bernice Barratt Brown
.jpg)
Neill Binns, Delamere at Sunset
St Laurence Church watercolour by Anne Bonner
Thatched Cottages painted by Derrill Walker