My Century is Calling

My Century is Calling

A poem about Brian's life and love.

One printed sheet

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MWalleyBS1062112-180127-15

MY CENTURY IS CALLING by Brian Walley.

Only seven more years to go,
Royal telegram will follow.
I’ve lived on borrowed time since forty-one,
Now looking back on the life I’ve won.

Cheshire born in twenty-two.
My father farmed at Tillstone Hall.
Frank Gordon Walley was his name
While my mother, just plain Jane.

Contagious foot and mouth disease
From farm to farm spread with ease.
All stock shot and then cremated,
Six months fallow contemplated.

Farm destocked for half a year.
With no income it was quite clear
That Father, not being a fool
Should take a job in Liverpool.

Meanwhile mother with children four
Crossed the sea to Mona, and then
Six months later came home again,
Rejuvenated by her tour.

Farmhouse Cheshire cheese once more made
With mother still the dairy maid
This knowledge to prove later on
The stepping stones for things to come.

With money scarce and stock too dear,
The road ahead was very clear.
They sold up and moved to Weston Hall
Where Pop, now Bailif [sic] was on call.

The milk still went for Cheshire cheese
Now made in Derby If you please.
We left the Hall in thirty-three
To make more cheese in a factory.

In thirty-nine they stretched out more,
Walleys-Weavers, brothers four, saw
The Vale of Clwyd Creamery bought
To make more cheese, still Cheshire sort.

I went to Wales to join the fun.
My first job on the lorry run,
To get to know the farmers, and,
to collect their milk from the stand.

I met Ann Williams, Pen Parc Llwyd,
The prettiest farm in the Vale of Clwyd.
She had two daughters, Mair and Nancy,
Mair’s the one that took my fancy.

No doubt we were interested.
In World War Two our love was tested.
I joined up and learned to fly,
But later on I wondered why!

Got Shot down on the Berlin run.
The winner this time was the Hun.
Turned for home – got half way there,
Ditched in the sea – cries of despair!

Saved by the Hun – incarcerated,
Four years later, liberated –
Straight into Mair’s I flew,
Still the girl that once I knew.

A quick engagement – we wed next year,
Then farmed on Mon, while over there
We raised five children on the farm,
Three boys, two girls, all full of charm.

My wanderlust sought pastures new,
So to Australia off we flew.
Poor Mair, hiraeth called her from the start.
Leaving Wales just broke her heart..

We came to OZ as ten pound poms,
Often told from where we’re from.
Still hanker for green fields of home.
Home is home where ere we roam.

Time has sped – our children wed.
Their children now have also bred.
Mair is “Nain” while I am “Taid”.
Later on, “Hen Nain”, “Hen Taid”.

For seventy years she’s been my wife.
Lots of love but not much strife.
In her nineties now, Mair’s bedridden
With broken hip, to walk’s forbidden.

Oft we’ve travelled back to Wales.
The lure of homeland never fails.
We now realise we’ve run the run
we'll stay in OZ ‘til life is done.

When our time comes we’ll be cremated.
Our ashes mixed – not separated,
Taken to Mair’s parents grave, then
We’ll rest in peace -.
“Yn oes oesoedd – Amen”.