Lost Poem Found

This long lost poem was found in a 1798 edition of a publication called ‘The Monthly Magazine and British Register’.  It was tagged on to an article about ‘Lord Flame’, better known to us as Samuel ‘Maggoty’ Johnson our very own Jester, Dancing Master, Musician and all-round Fool.

The ‘Gawsworth Wood’ mentioned in the poem is Maggoty Wood where Maggoty Johnson is buried. We can’t put a name to the poet (T.E.) but it seems they lived in Lower Broughton, which is now a part of Salford.  That would fit with the poet’s sign off in the poem that he must leave Gawsworth’s broad green fields and glorious bells for Manchester’s din, hurry and bustle.  Around the time the poem was written Broughton was becoming one of the earliest residential suburbs for “commuters” into Manchester and Salford.

The modern-day poet John Cooper Clarke was born and brought up in Broughton.  We don’t think he’s written a Gawsworth poem so we asked A.I. to write a poem about Gawsworth.  Here’s what it came up with:

“In Gawsworth where old tales are spun, Maggoty Johnson still haunts for fun. In Maggoty Wood he makes his scene, A poet, a jester, ghostly lean. Spouting verses ’til day is done.”

Not great, eh?  We’re sure there must be some budding Gawsworthian poets out there who could do much better! Have a go and send your poem to clerk@gawsworthpc.org.uk to become a published poet!

Gawsworth Bells

By TE, 1798

Yonder, near those lovely woods, where nature is displayed
In all her gorgeous grandeur, in trees and flowers arrayed!
Where fir and elm, and oak and ash, in beauty vie with birch,
Whilst sweetly through the tall trees sound the Bells of Gawsworth Church.

Hark! how grand those heavenly strains float on the passing breeze
From yonder square embattled tower seen o’er the stately trees
That guardian-like stand near the church, and shelter round it fling,
Whilst from the tower at service hour the bells melodious ring.

Ever welcome are the peals rung on the sabbath day,
Their tunes seem full of heavenly peace that angels well might stay
And listen to the touching notes borne over fields and dells
To cottage, farm, and mansion, by Gawsworth’s lovely bells.

I have stood in Gawsworth Wood and heard them loudly ring—
Their chimes seemed like unto the songs that angels sweetly sing;
As through the trees, in beauty clad, their music falls and swells,
The song-birds answer to the peals of Gawsworth’s sweet-toned bells.

Well might Johnson wish to rest close by such bells as these!
Within those groves—old Gawsworth’s pride—’mid bushes, ferns and trees—
For Cheshire does not, cannot boast, in all her woods and dells,
A fairer, sweeter, lovelier spot than that near Gawsworth bells.

In many an ancient storm-beat tower within thy pleasant lines,
The bells of Cheshire famous are among old England’s chimes;
And Gawsworth, ever beautiful, the same old story tells,
And spreads the Master’s glory with the music of her bells.

There are many peals of bells within this lovely shire,
In ivy-clad embattled tower and graceful tapering spire,
Whose tunes float upwards to the sky, where Heavenly glory dwells,—
But very few in such great strains as Gawsworth’s chiming bells.

Then, at marriages they ring a grand and glorious peal,
And celebrate the marriage-rite with more than usual zeal;
’Tis then their tones so sweetly fall where grace and beauty dwells,
For all will own there is a charm in Gawsworth’s wedding bells.

And then when life’s short journey ends, and homes are filled with gloom,
As some beloved friend is borne towards the silent tomb;
When hearts are bound with sorrow, and grief each bosom swells,
A very solemn peal is rung on Gawsworth’s muffled bells.

Good-bye, Gawsworth’s gentle bells, I cannot longer stay,
Though fain my heart would linger still, but duty calls away
To Manchester, with all its din, where hurry and bustle dwells,
Away from Cheshire’s broad green fields, and Gawsworth’s glorious bells.