Friends of Woodthorpe Grange Park 2018

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Woodthorpe Grange Park’s Poets Corner


Pam Shepperson


I walked o’er Woodthorpe Park today

Your flowers were all gone,

And the little robin did not stay

To offer me his song,

And your other restless birds,

Had flown to sing some newer tunes.


I waited by the garden wall,

You did not linger here.

There was no reason left at all,

Such loneliness brought fear.

The rain that whispered to each leaf,

As Woodthorpe murmured low with grief.


Behind the little wooden bench,

Low in the moss I saw,

Broken and rusted at my feet,

The key to our secret door.

Do return sometimes to hind,

And watch if I might go inside?


Ever the voice of the one I loved,

And the whispering Autumn rain,

Sigh as I wander through my dreams,

O’er Woodthorpe Park again.

Ever so still as you wait and see,

If only I will turn the key.


Beyond the woodland cold and still

Is where my feet must go.

Till they reach at last the tunnel gate,

And a face I used to know,

Beckons me from the gathering night,

And welcomes me into the morning light.


Pam Shepperson


Have you see Woody?

He slipped from his lead,

Shot down the the bank

Like a race horse once freed.

The golfers were sorry,

And each shook their head,

Off the search woodland,

And gardens instead.


Did you spot Woody,

The rascally mutt?

He’s not near the engine,

Nor the pitch and putt.

He ran to kiss Meggy,

Our Doberman cross,

Then galloped away,

Showing off like a boss!


At football a player,

Said he’d had a ,

A wild running Collie

That dived for the ball.

Could that have been Woody,

Gone mad on the pitch?

Last seen in mid-flirt

With a Labrador bitch.


The owner found Woody,

The innocent soul,

With a kind cafe girl,

And a half bacon roll.

Poor Woody so sad

But he gave a brave bark,

“Don’t lose me again

On this huge Woodthorpe Park!”

Woodthorpe Woody


Return to Woodthorpe Park

May Lady Spring

Pam Shepperson


May Lady Spring

Has melted Winter’s snow,

She stirs the emerald Grass and spills

The buttercups o’er Woodthorpe’s hills,

And teaches birds to sing.


My Lady Spring has scented Woodthorpe Park

She shakes the lazy copse to wake,

The squirrels, such a noise they make,

Delighted from the dark!


My Lady Spring has kissed the buds of May,

She paints an azure sky and frees,

The butterflies on gentle breeze,

Then smiles as if to say,

Sweet Woodthorpe’s fit for play!



The Artist’s Gift

Pam Shepperson


I watched him today as he sat on the bank,

With paper and pencils to draw.

So quiet and still as he made not a move,

To sketch anything that he saw.

I carried on past and I walked through the park,

But something led to return,

To the strange old man with his artist’s pack,

What as it I wanted to learn?


I stopped by his side but he didn’t look up

As I asked him what he liked to draw?

I mentioned the beauty of Woodthorpe Grange Park,

And said I had seen him before.


Yet never a glance did the artist give,

Not even a word did he speak.

But he started to draw in a manner so quick,

Though his hands seemed too frail and so weak.


He drew the huge chestnut trees over the bank,

Decked out in their mantel of Spring.

He captured a squirrel with fine charcoal strokes,

And a blackbird so high on the wing.


The daffodils, daisies, which danced at his feet,

All took their place on the page.

He coloured the sky in the brightest of blue,

He worked like a man half his age!


I looked at my watch as it started to rain,

And a chill settled fast in the air.

I told the old artist that I had to rush,

But found he was no longer there.


Just a piece of old artwork where he had been sat,

By the artist that I could not thank.

He’d left me his drawing to treasure for time,

On a page that was wrinkled and blank.


He gave me a gift that I’ll always keep

Of his work, and forever to see.

All the wonder of Spring in our beautiful park,

Locked safe in the heart of me.

Woodthorpe Park


Christine Baldwin


“What does Woodthorpe mean to me?”

That was the question asked

It means so much, so many memories

Of times both recent and past


Of children playing, happy in the sun

Watching the birds take flight

Of conkers gathered in the Autumn

Much to the children’s delight


And, what about the golf course

Where I first learnt to play

Or, the train peeping out of the tunnel

An unusual sight, hidden away


There are so many different aspects

To write about through the year

The sledging in the winter snow

The Carol singers bringing good cheer


Or, explore the tropical gardens

A peaceful place to rest

So much to do, all through the year

Or time just to sit and be blessed


This Park holds so much treasure

For one and all to see

For fun and rest and leisure

Woodthorpe’s the place to be


The Tropical House


David.R.West.


I relish the warmth and humidity of the Tropical House,

In such tranquility and ambience l’m as quiet as a mouse.

There’s just the sound of carp splashing in the nearby pool,

As l enjoy a book, sitting within Woodthorpe Grange’s unique jewel.

The light is intense throughout autumn, winter, summer, and spring,

Overcoming all seasons, this place makes my heart sing.

I could be in the tropics, for l see bananas and palms,

And the vegetation here is just one of its charms.


But now, a return visit has become difficult, hills are a bar,

If there were bus stops at the gates, l failed to see where they are.

Perhaps for the able bodied, this place passes their test,

But for me there’s a problem, so l’ll forgo this cosy nest.


The Visit to the Park


Christine Baldwin


Another bright & cheerful day

To enjoy the summer sun

A walk to the local park

What could be more fun ?


We have packed up a picnic

And set off on our way

Looking forward to our destination

To eat & rest & play


The trees are in full blossom

The dandelions litter the grass

We spread our blanket on the ground

And eat the food down fast


For the sooner we have eaten

The sooner we can explore

All the nooks and crannies

Bringing happiness galore


The playground full of adventure

A place to meet old friends

Swings & slides & roundabouts

A joy that knows no end


So, if you have some time to spare

And need to refresh and unwind

Then pay a visit to your local park

And see just what you can find


Toddler’s Picnic


Pam R. Shepperson


We came with a wicker basket

A tartan rug and chairs

The food and toys so heavy

That we carried them in pairs.

And several teddy bears.


There’s nothing like a picnic

And Woodthorpe Park’s the place

To run the kiddy’s legs off

And let him fill his face.

Sausage rolls and fairy cakes

Wolfed down at rapid pace.


An hour on the play park

He went on everything

Roundabout and see-saw

And squealing on the swing.

He climbed right up the little tower

The sat there like a king.


Of course he saw the cafe

And I knew things could turn bad

If we didn’t buy and ice-cream

And a current bun for dad.

Two coffees and doughnut

And a milkshake for the lad.


Then “time to go” we whispered

Our faces full of dread

Who dares tell the toddler

That it’s nearly time for bed?

He stamped his foot and stiffened

And his face was turning red.


We didn’t want a tantrum

So we stayed late for a lark

Our kiddo wild, triumphant

Singing “Doo doo baby shark.”

A-picnicking till gate close

On the empty Woodthorpe Park!

The Great Woodthorpe Tumble of 2019


Pam R. Shepperson


I fell down the bank

Had somebody pushed me

Head over heels

On the wet muddy slope?

“You should have worn boots,”

My worried friend hushed me

Soothed my loud squeals

As I just couldn’t cope.


I slid down the hill

Had somebody shoved me?

I toppled right over

Lay there in a heap

I thought at the time

That nobody loved me

Even the footballers

Stopped for a peep!


I fell down the bank

Such a terrible tumble

Squelching in mud

And it felt rather strange

There gathered a crowd

Who all started to mumble

The famous calamity

Of Woodthorpe Grange Park.


RETURN TO THE TOP

Mi Luv Woodthorpe Park


In the style of Benjamin Zephaniah.


Glenn Hickson


Woodthorpe Park is wicked,

Woodthorpe Park is peng,

I can run or jog or ride mi bike,

Or chill on the benches dem.


The cold a’ lick mi in winter,

In summer mi bu’n up,

I get a soakin’ all year roun’

But it don’t stop me goin’ up,


I don’t mind if the dogs a’ bark,

Or if the kids a’ scream,

As long as mi ‘ave mi coffee,

Or a lick o’ mi ice cream,


In Woodthorpe Park mi happy,

In Woodthorpe Park mi free,

Coz nothing a’ trouble mi there,

And I can just be me.

WOODTHORPE LITTER PICK


PAM. SHEPPERSON


​Tidying the mess

Picking up the litter

Picking up the litter on this bright Spring day.

Kindly people, yes!

Picking up the litter

Picking up the litter that louts threw away.


Though not the ones who leave it

All these helpful one's retrieve it

Fill the sacks and and tie the handles

Then upon their backs they heave it.


Traipsing Woodthorpe Park

Picking up the litter

Picking up the litter

Of the thoughtless lout

Cheerful as a lark

Picking up the litter

Picking up the litter's

What it's all about.


Lazy folk just will not bin it

Get their bag and put it in it

If a mucky prize were offered

Oh the idle louts would win it!


Aching arms and feet

From picking up the litter

​Picking up the litter

Of the mucky few.

Keeping parkland neat

Picking up the litter

Picking up the litter's

what these good folk do.


And they go to all this trouble

To remove the horrid rubble.

Proud of Woodthorpe and it's glory

 Is the litter pickers story.










WOODTHORPE PARK IN SUMMER


Pam Shepperson


Golden yellow, crimson, pink

Petals mauve and white

Here is the place I go to think

To make my world feel bright

There by the archway, gone in a blink

The moments turn to hours

This is the place I go to think

There amongst beautiful flowers.


Wait by the archway when I am gone

Listen, I whisper my song

This is the place that I come to think

Here where I always belong…


WOODTHORPE GRANGE PARK


Susan White


Oh the struggle to get babes ready, lead on dog, walk up to the park,

More difficult in winter when winds blew hard, and skies so dull and dark,

But the basic sense of achievement to arrive inside the gates,

The trees and luscious greenness, of open space awaits,

For children the fun of swinging gently as parents idly push

Or endlessly climbing steps so high, to slide down with a whoosh!!

Oh how we mums loved  this  park, just right for family fun

We'd call in Birds in Sherwood for drinks and  still be home by 1pm


As we mums grew older, children now at school,

Busy times, but dogs need walk, an important daily rule

This park became a sanctuary, wrapped  in nature, soul revived,

A favourite for all dog walkers and folk with busy lives,

The pitch and put a favourite game, for all, both rich or poor,

Just come enjoy the game and don't cheat on the score !

The gardens each with different theme, had a hidden charm,

Ideas to copy and use at home, if you've strength of arm


Now in the present, all of this remains, in fact so much more,

With greenhouse, shop with beautiful plants to buy and explore,

Community functions,abound encouraging all to join in the fun

It's our park, our open space, our breathing space, and we must shun

The developer, the agent, who make offers to own the land

We must Protect this historic place, as our heritage, originally planned.