Sibford Scene Archive

The hour was a day – 23 Mar 2020. And the day became a year. A year made from a patch work of shut downs and tiers. An unattractive coat that had to be worn.

The Man was not a man. It was the old Drovers’ road running alongside Swalcliffe Lea. The salvation for many seeking activity away from creeping depression, the onset of cabin fever, loneliness and much, much more.

And the many were not just the locals of Swalcliffe and Tadmarton. Some came from such foreign places as the Sibfords and the metropolis of Banbury. Soon the overflowing car park at Swalcliffe Village Hall became twinned with a pop up one at the other end of the Drovers’ road where it crosses the Shutford road.

They came in their hundreds. All ages strolled, power walked or jogged; from the very young to the very old. Some were pushed in buggies. Not even born before the crisis. Others had endured many national crises before. These people took it all in their slow stride and even brought picnics as respite from unexpected forced exercise. The children jumped in the puddles and ran through the mud. Happy were the dogs that did the same. Happy, because home offered the reward of a hot shower and a sleep before the fire.

The road morphed into different things for different people with different needs. For those who needed gossip it became a 17th century coffee shop. The wide diversity of animals and birds ensured that it will be remembered as a nature park. A garden shop satisfied the needs of horticulturists. Artists were in a studio enthused by the changing vista and colours; the sky blue beauty of the borage in summer and the frozen tears of the Mad Marston springs twinkling in the winter sun. Cyclists enjoyed a velodrome. Horse riders trotted along a bridle way. It was an outdoor office to many where fresh air sharpened the mind to resolve a problem that was impenetrable in the claustrophobia of a small make shift home office. In summer it was a balmy Mediterranean plaza to promenade along with a partner before supper. A concert hall appeared one hot weekend when musicians sat by the road playing their instruments. And a shop was there. Limited to honey and candles. But a shop nonetheless.

For many undeclared people it was a place of worship where they could commune with their God; alone, silently and directly. No ritual. How many thanks were offered for the blessing of our NHS? How many prayers for the recovery of a sick infected friend or relative? How many pleas were made for an end to this?

It will end soon. The hour will pass. But the Man will remain with our ghosts, those that went before and those that are yet to come.

Keep safe. The Sports Reporter

Those who follow the transcription of the Rev Edward Stevens diary on the website will be familiar with the Dix family, especially the Misses Dix who often entertained Rev Stevens to tea and helped with the Penny Bank. Miss Sarah Dix, as a 13 year-old girl, in 1851, also kept a diary which I have been able to transcribe during Lockdown – but that is another story. At the end of her diary she copied out many religious texts, poems and other items of interest to her. Below is an amusing poem summarising the history of the English monarchy up till 1762.

The Romans in England once did sway,
And the Saxons after them led the way.
They raged with the Danes till an overthrow,
They both of them got from the Norman’s bow.
Chorus:
Thus barring all bother, the one and the other,
All came to be Kings in their turn.

Norman, Willy the Conqueror long did reign
Red Willy his son, by an arrow was slain.
Henry the First was a scholar bright
Tho’ Stephen was forced for his crown to fight
Chorus: Thus barring….

Second Henry, Plantagenet’s name did bear,
Richard, Coeur de Lion, was his son and heir.
Famed Magna Charta we gained from John,
Which Henry Third put his seal upon.
Chorus: …

Edward the First was a tiger bold,
Second Edward by rebels was bought and sold.
Edward the Third was his subject’s pride
His poor grandson, Richard, was popped to one side.
Chorus: …

Fourth Henry of Lancaster was a very bold knight,
And his son, fifth Henry bravely did fight.
Sixth Henry, his son, like a chicken did pout
When fourth Edward, his cousin, turned him out
Chorus: …

Poor Edward the Fifth was killed in his bed
By his Uncle Richard who was knocked on the head
By Henry the Seventh, who in fame grew big,
And Henry the Eighth was as fat as a pig.
Chorus: …

With Edward the Sixth we had tranquil days.
Bloody Mary, his sister, made faggot to blaze.
But good Queen Bess was a glorious dame.
And James the First from Scotland came.
Chorus: …

Charles the First was his son, and a martyr made,
Charles the Second, his son, was a comical blade.
James the Second, when hotly spurred
Ran away, I assure you, from William the Third!
Chorus: …

Queen Ann was victorious by land and sea,
And George the First with glory did sway.
But as George the Second has long been dead,
Long life to the George that we have in his stead.
Final Chorus:
And may his son’s sons to the end of the chapter,
All come to be Kings in their turn.

I wonder if anyone would like to try continue the writing and bring this historical poem up to date?

Maureen Hicks