the watchers

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THE WATCHERS The Toothill Long Poem Written by The Toothillians: Megan and Tamsin of Toothill Primary School, Kieran, Alisha, Tyler, Jake, Luke, Annabel of Lydiard Park Academy, Kiera and Morgan of Oliver Tomkins Primary School, Ella, Emma, and Alicia of Westlea Primary School in collaboration with the Toothill Lunch Club and Hilda Sheehan

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the Toothill Long Poem

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1

THE WATCHERS

The Toothill Long Poem

Written by

The Toothillians: Megan and Tamsin of

Toothill Primary School, Kieran, Alisha,

Tyler, Jake, Luke, Annabel of Lydiard Park

Academy, Kiera and Morgan of Oliver

Tomkins Primary School, Ella, Emma, and

Alicia of Westlea Primary School

in collaboration with

the Toothill Lunch Club

and Hilda Sheehan

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Acknowledgments

The Toothill Long Poem has been made possible by funding

from Toothill Big Local Steering Committee; support

from The Link Magazine and its publisher/editor Roger Ogle,

who first proposed a poem by children living in the

community; backed up from Swindon Artswords & Literature

Development; and advice and assistance from Matt

Holland and the Swindon Festival of Literature.

Thank you also to:

Toothill Primary School and Helen Huby for hosting the

workshops, Lower Shaw Farm for hosting our writing

day, Cristina Bennett of Lydiard Park Academy, Scott James

of Westlea Primary School, Julie Warburton of

Oliver Tomkins Primary School, members of the Toothill

Lunch Club, Michael Scott, Jason Byefield, Sean Wilson, and

Jackie Parry of the Toothill Big Local Committee, Jonathan

Mills, Toothill Community Centre, and David Hoare of

Toothill Church. Front cover image © Roger Ogle (The Link Magazine): The Watchers (Old View) sculpture

made in 1982 by Carleton Attwood

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About the Toothill Long Poem by Hilda Sheehan

When I was asked to write a long poem with students for

Toothill, I saw this as an opportunity for young people to look

closely at their community and connect with the older people

who had lived in Toothill for many years. I wanted the project

to be more than a poem; an exciting process of discovery,

enthusiasm, and unearthing of story and history for Toothill,

by the young students who live there.

I can say, along with the students, that I love Toothill! I have

enjoyed all the people we have met, especially on the

wonderful afternoon when the students visited the Toothill

Lunch Club, all chatting easily together, enjoying each other’s

company. It has been an amazing experience. We have

discovered many points of interest in the village, The

Watchers sculpture being the focus and our title for the poem.

Also, Toothill Sunrise, the stained glass window in the

Community Centre, the myriad of pathways that lead to so

many wonderful spots and then, Toothill itself, a historic

lookout location and former farmland.

This poem expresses the vivid imaginations of the students,

who have chosen to be known as The Toothillians. They write

well, and should be proud of the lines in this poem. They are

deep thinkers, imaginative and proud of where they live.

'Dreams / Poems' is written on the front of Kiera's note book, a

good place to start, a good place to make poetry. We were

inspired, dreamlike, by the hedgerows, the wildlife and that

prime spot with a spectacular view that is Toothill. I’d like to

thank the kind people at the Toothill Lunch Club, for being so

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welcoming and generous in sharing their stories. These stories

have added a unique magic that could only have been

experienced in Toothill, now retold within the 500 lines.

You can view the logbook and evaluation of this project on

our blog:

toothilllongpoem.blogspot.co.uk

A small version of The Watchers stands in the reception area of Toothill Primary School

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Above, The Toothillions gather by The Watchers near Toothill Community Centre and

below, at Lower Shaw Farm ©Roger Ogle

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THE WATCHERS

Sett the Bord, behold in a Toothill

Isaiah 21, Verse 5

i. The Lookout

A teenage hangout,

the mound, lookout,

mud hills, place to kick

a ball about

and shout!

when it’s dark

and the sky looks dead

the kids come out,

but I’m in bed.

I hear them, but

I don’t know

what they said,

or what they see.

This lookout sees:

Penhill, Link Centre

Ten Pin, De Vere

top of eco Toothill School

green and bright

with a Sedum roof

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where bugs and bees

busy about as the children

busily work inside.

And this lookout hears:

the birds, children, bugs.

And this lookout feels

the scratch of tree bark,

the quiver of pathway,

flies on the neck

of night shine

on a dark sky like

you have never

seen before: a rainbow

of glowing

shimmering colours.

We are fantasy

fire glowing, stars bold

for the eternity of sleep.

They say there are ghosts,

headless and howling,

on this Indian mound

until morning and sunrise

when this lookout tastes

the walk of people

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prowl of cats

the earth under us,

was crops, and cows,

the ones that worked

this land by hand,

before our houses came.

All under us

layered beneath

the pathways.

And when the sun comes up

time burns as you wait

for dreams to come true.

We hear whispers

from the voices

we can’t find,

those that dug the ground,

near this man- made mound:

Totien? Long Barrow? Fairy Toot?

What is that noise?

Whistles from the railway,

whistles from the railway:

the train that

whistled then,

whistles now…

And when the snow’s falling

It’s so exciting to watch,

the robins come out

looking for berries,

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there’s footprints,

snow angels –

excitement filling the air.

What do you remember

from this mound?

I remember the distance.

Where does the distance

come from?

Deep amazement!

As the sun becomes itself

we turn to the mystery

of oranges,

pinks and purples,

birds nest high up

in a tree,

black cat

yellow eyes,

looks out

blackberries,

a garden fence

and a little red door.

Bare apple tree,

leaves withering

on a winter floor.

Toothill Farmhouse,

now used for scouts,

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junior youth club

but I knew

who lived there

before they moved!

Lookout now

my tootere,

peep from our top

and tell us

how well

we can see you.

Natural or artificial

we are here on top

of this tuthill…

prepare the table!

watch in a watchtower!

ii. Mistaken Pathways

Under the concrete.

I am something

exciting:

Cow Leaze

The Folly

Home Close.

I was field names

and boundaries,

a home for cows,

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under footsteps

to school, footsteps

to buses,

Link Centre,

the old railway track,

a Roman way - Asda!

Uphill and downhill,

I am green-fields

gone concrete.

I am the pathway

that meanders,

around the houses,

coming up for air

on Flint Hill,

from the very top

of Swindon,

the cycle route

around the houses

to places near and far –

Freshbrook,

over the bridge

to Westlea, to Shaw

and Lydiard Park

or Old Town via

the former railway line,

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or Toothill park

with its football pitch

where epic games of football

happen

and children

play all day.

I see beyond the hedgerows,

beyond the tops of houses

with their rainbow doors.

Daffodils,

winter flowers,

life of sparrows.

I see crowds of people,

then such quiet

that runs all the way

down

to the bottom

of the empty street.

Hopping through the leaves

a tiny bird

wandered lonely,

a stray trolley parked

at the side of a road

chatted

to an empty bag of crisps,

a ginger cat wandered effortlessly

over a broken fence.

Spring leaves

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and memories

the sunrise

is brought to life

mistaken pathway

of happy wanderers

leaving traces and trails

no-one knows

I am breathing

I never end

never stop taking you

here and there

I am the path –

roses and

wildflowers

bring me alive.

The moon comes out

lights the sky

with its friends the stars

and I am dark,

the way along

has disappeared

until morning;

the people here,

all following

the path that leads

to the beginning

of their own day.

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iii. A Toot and a Whistle from us all

We remember

Spring is Sprung

in daffs

along the highway,

the railway

brought its clatter,

trains chattered

past,

fast!

Daffs along

the highway,

We’d come home

from the park

our eyes full

of Swindon!

That whistle

from the railway

whistles now…

Listen:

I remember

sledging

down Mud hill,

I shouted ‘ Joe!’

then crashed

into the fence.

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listen:

I was in a concert

with another

Toot woman,

Sang the songs

of my wedding day…

now at 92, I feel 102!

The trails

of our lives before,

green fields and trees,

a view hidden

by silver birches.

trails of pinks and purples,

listen:

I made tea

for the men

in the builder’s hut

when our gardens

were fields

with no gate to shut.

They’d sneak

round the back

to my husband’s bar,

have a whiskey

and a laugh, men

that built this place.

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If the windows

are open

you can hear

the dual carriageway

and the railway –

we don’t notice it anymore.

Listen:

to the Ice-Cream truck

down the road

I hear people

asking for loads

When he comes down everyday

He always likes to say,

‘I will always hang around

here in Toothill.’

Noise of the dual carriageway

in our beautiful

gardens.

We don’t notice it anymore.

From our gardens

we hear babies cry

and parents moan

all day, cars

driving round

on the road

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with music

full blast!

Listen:

That time I took on

the biggest greaser

in town.

Up to no good

behind Sainsbury’s,

beating a young lad he was

so I bashed him

with my shopping bag –

You can’t just turn your back.

Listen:

these were

the good ole days.

‘Danny the Woodcutter’,

shouting,

“anything

need sharpening?”

And his wheel turning,

spinning around,

sparks flying.

He shouts,

“I can sharpen anything,

or cut your wood

on my angle grinder.”

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Sparks flying

as it spins around -

good ole days.

Listen:

My wife and I happily

fell in love here:

I’ve one wife,

one car,

one house...

it's all I need.

Listen:

It’s easy said Iris,

on the wireless,

the buildings I see

from the top of Toothill

are the Link and its pipes

and Renault in yellow

which everyone likes.

The number 8 bus

gets us around

and we can walk to Asda!

Do you know Victoria Court?

Ah yes,

a well-known

street in Toothill,

a big horseshoe

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shape crescent,

full of houses.

Do you know Salzgitter Court?

Yes, our twin town link,

our elder’s community.

Do you know

Idover, Belsay,

Beverley?

Toothill Church?

yes, the first structure,

started in a hut

There’s support

and friendship,

on a Christian path.

Then the Hut

was a shop

mid-winter

had a horrible

muddy floor

the ‘Taste of India.’

was a butchers.

‘RS Mc Coll’. ‘MV’,

‘One Stop’

are now a Tesco.

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You can’t hardly see

Spring is Sprung

anymore.

iv. The Watchers

The Watchers sculpture

stands all alone,

man, woman, child, dog

made of stone.

Now the watchers lift

goes up

through time

sees pathways

which never end.

No one can see inside

the three figures

but they see out,

ask us if we are going up

to the top

of Toothill time

to mud hill

our Toothill today

on the top floor

Dog Sphinx protects

watchers, lookers

the future with a brave face.

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Olive King typed letters

into shape,

our problems

and pains,

troubles with drains,

the potholes

and window frames –

things not quite right

on a typewriter

in the back of her car.

Out of Toothill Farm

came our homes,

the people

and ‘Toothill Link’:

Join in, if you want,

tell us your stories!

We’ll cut and paste

an A4 spread, with news…

first baby was born

in Markenfield

and ‘Toothill Link’

became ‘The Link’

between Freshbrook

Shaw, Westlea.

We asked, do we need cable?

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a community school?

what will happen

to The Hut?

So here is a beautiful place,

good connections

we make,

with people from

the good ole days,

Toothill!

A world of imagination:

Toothill is cool

have fun in Toothill!

v.Toothill Sunrise

Stained glass story

going round in circles

a lead train track

hill out of clear blue

going round in circles

a home for me and you

a stained glass story.

And Toothill is cool

We love Toothill!

We’re only saying:

Toothill has values better

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than you thought,

and it’s cooler

than you get taught.

Toothill! School full of kids.

Toothill! Some men in suits.

Toothill, pigeons and magpies

coo and caw.

You can come

and have lunch

or a drink in our pub

and do walk your dog

but please

pick up the pooh!

Toothill has a name

tooting for time

Toot Toot

goes the train

as it drives

down the track.

We’re all part

of Toothill’s history,

now on display

for all to see.

Family, friends,

young and old,

a story of Toothill

has been told.

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Toothill Lunch Club Visit: February 2012

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The second ‘word walk’ to the Community Centre,

The Watchers Statue, and Toothill Church.

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The Toothill Sunrise inside Toothill Community Centre

made by Keith Gale in 1984

A lead train track, going round in circles

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Inside Toothill Church

Deep amazement!

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At Lower Shaw Farm for a writing day.

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Olive King typed letters into shape

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Gaining inspiration from past Link Magazine material

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Getting Ready to Perform our Toothill Long Poem

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Postcards from Toothill competition winning poem

By Kiera Grisley

of Oliver Tomkins Primary School

The derelict farmhouse in Toothill,

boarded up but standing still.

The fire tore through the house with rage,

the cottage had lived to fine old age.

A train passes by on its route

the name comes from the train's TOOT TOOT!

The Watchers sculpture stands all alone,

man, woman, child, dog made of stone.

It's part of Toothill's history

It's on display for all to see.

Family, friends, young and old,

the story of Toothill has been told.

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Photo collage Roger Ogle,

Link Magazine

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