The Road to Harcombe (With apologies to Rudyard Kipling)

They shut the road to Harcombe

The County Council did.

They put up signs and walked away,

And now you would never know

There was once a road to Harcombe

Before they let it go.

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It is underneath the mud and grass,

And the hedges left to grow.

Only the farmer knows

That where the badgers and rabbits play,

And the wily foxes go,

There was once a road to Harcombe.

Yet if you go to Harcombe

The very long way round,

When those from the farms have stopped

driving home,

And the milk lorry’s gears grinding

Loud up the hill

Drift out on the evening air.

You will hear the cry of the driver stuck

In the mud and potholes left

And the curse of the one with the steering


As though they thought they knew

The old road home to Harcombe.

But there is no road to Harcombe.

Frank Eul

(via email)