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
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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
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.