It happened one December, back in 1923, A stranger crossed The Solent, for to see what he could see. He landed from the ferry and he walked the Isle of Wight, And on the road to Newchurch he was caught by coming night.He came upon a gateway, topped by crests of gold and red, And thought he'd better go and cadge a place to lay his head, But halfway down the driveway, fully hedgewards must he dive, As a coach and fiery horses hurtled madly down the drive.
He freed himself then shook his fist and blasphemous did curse, Then dusted down his clothing, truly pleased he'd fared no worse. Then marched on down the driveway, 'til he came unto a door, And rang the bell, and knocked full loud, and then did curse some more.
He heard the sound of music, as was played in years gone by, So crept up to a casement for to see what he could spy; And what he saw, this sober man, did totally amaze, The couples dancing stately, in attire of bygone days.
He turned upon his heel, walked on, and came unto a dwelling, and there was offered shelter and was soon his tale a-telling; The farmer shook his head and said: "Your tale I'd not believe, Had you arrived some other night... but this is New Year's Eve."
The stranger spoke: "What is this, sir, some mystery arcane?" The farmer thus his wife addressed: "Some brandy for us, Jane. That house, called Knighton Gorges, fell a century ago, And where it stood but brambles and the rosebay herb now grow."
They all retired to their rooms; the stranger fitful slumbered, As memories of dancing shapes his dreaming sleep encumbered, Then with the dawn retraced his steps, to find the place forlorn, No house, no lawns, just gateposts bare, plus moss and weed and thorn.
Stories are told of strange
music and the sound of carriage wheels heard in this desolate place, especially
on New Years Eve.
Wed, 14 Mar 2001.