perfume of clover is faint in the air
night is so sweet and so still
nought to be heard
that one singing bird
wheel of the old water mill
rouse me again for the battle of life
my heartís longings be still
tempted to yearn for what cannot return
wheel of the old watermill.
Please, can anyone name
the composer of the above - an extract from The Old Watermill, learned by us
during the 1930s when we were pupils at Huntington School. During that
time our uncle was the miller at Halls Mill. We lived just down the lane
at Llanarrow and often stayed with our aunt and uncle in the house
that Grace is now having ďdone upĒ. We spent many happy hours playing in
and around the mill, watching the water flowing over and turning the wheel.
(Pity the big wheel didnít survive the war, but it probably did its bit to help
win the war by being turned into munitions along with park railings, garden
fences and other metal which could be managed without.)
mill was rather a frightening place in those days, at least for little girls,
what with the rumbling of the workings which seemed to shake the whole building,
the pit where the inner wheel was (now at the back of the kitchen) which you
stood back from for fear of being drawn in, and the banging of the trapdoors as
the sacks of corn where hoisted up to the hoppers on the top floor. We
also still remember the smell - slightly musty, and the thick covering in this
white dust, corn dust, and lots of cobwebs covered in this white dust.
lovely to see the mill so tastefully converted, and no longer just a ruined
building. A very pleasant journey back through time for us.
Darke and K. Whittall (nee Lily and Katie Turner).
We remember lots of mice and even a rat or two, but this time, not EVEN ONE
MOUSE DROPPING! Thank you, Grace, Mary and Gordon. See you again in