In Exbury once there stood the village school,
It's gateway framed by two majestic yews;
Two maiden ladies therein took us fools,
And rammed some sense into the most obtuse.

It being sponsored by the nearby church,
The rector would instil his christian views,
And at his sight some pupils' hearts would lurch,
And others would throughout his lecture snooze.

At lunchtime we would form a crocodile,
And march like Noah's charges, two by two,
To dining hall, a quarter of a mile,
And eat 'most everything 'cept irish stew.

"Now form up children, please," would come the call,
And march backwhile the girls we'd be a-teasin',
To play, with skipping rope, or bat and ball,
Or smash each other's conkers, in that season.

And once a week we went for country dancing,
The Exbury club room being our dance hall,
And round the room we'd all start madly prancing
While deer heads gazed with scorn from every wall.

We monitored the weather day by day,
To find prevailing winds we'd scan the vane,
That stood upon the clock tower, o'er the way...
But do you know? I can't remember rain!

I guess one just blots out what wasn't fun,
And rainy days were only dreary blanks;
So all recalls are ice and snow and sun.
For such selective memory let's give thanks.

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Last updated: Sun, 20 Aug 2000.