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Page 6 · column 4 of 9 · from the scan, no model involved
A few evenings ago my family were returning home, I was driving, my wife by my side, the kids were in the back seat ‘cuttin’ up’. As we turned into Byerkan road someone said: “Well, here we are in Lover’s Lane.” The remark stirred into memory a portion of an old poem I once knew. That night after I retired the whole poem came back to me. Here ’tis. In my fancy the wind is sighing Through the ruffled hedgerows again, And the wraith of my youth is crying To me from the love-haunted lane. I see the lads silently wooing, I hear the maids whisper again, I think of their joying, or rueing, Whose love time was lived in the lane. < The days of those dreams are long over, They never will come back again; Yet life’s at no loss for a lover To walk for all time in the lane. The ‘lover’s lanes’ of my day have given way to urban expansion. But we can go back in memory and walk again in the lane. Guess some of you have heard the saying ‘it’s a long lane , that has no turning’. It just seemed long to the next turn in the lane, chances were that some > other couple had beat you to it. But, them was the days. Daze. There was an abandoned house near our home; it was reputed to be haunted. Some Sunday afternoons we would get a group together and go to this old house. We would go up to the top floor and
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