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Itteringham Mill
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The Ghost of Itteringham Mill
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| Workmates sit awhile and listen, listen while I play
the host And with story entertain you, how last night I saw a ghost; 'Tis my birthday and my years have overtopped three score and ten Wish me gladness on my journey - you and I are working men And the task entrusted to us, well and truly must be done To the order, for the pleasure of the Lord of Wolterton; Yon old mill now in conversion to a dwelling sound and fair Shall redound to all our honour when we've finished the repair. |
| Last midnight alone I wandered where the harvest moon
was high Gaunt old gables cast their shadows and the rafters and the sky In a mood of meditation entered thro' the old south door, Climbed the worn and crazy ladder mounting to the grinding floor. There before me on a space where once revolved the big mill post stood a spectre in the moonlight - 'twas an ancient miller's ghost, Short and stocky, aged and bearded, dust upon him still like down And I saw the old man's visage darkened with an angry frown As he gazed on th'disordere and the wreckage all around Of the gear that once his mill was - broken heaps upon the ground In his eyes I read a question which I had no wish to shun Plainly what the old man asked was "What is this that you have done?" I gave answer, unrepentant why indeed should I repine? "Long years back you had your day and now old Isegrim this is mine Then you served your generation at your trade of grist and grind Made the Bure serve your purpose independent of the wind; What has made you come amongst us visiting these earthly scenes Ghosts can want no flour nor supers, bran nor water mill machines Were you restless in your dwelling, is there sin upon your soul Something that you shun from telling - unpaid debt or unjust toll? You are but a wandering spirit with no need of food or pelf Flesh and bone have lost their merit - shadow of your former self "Come" I said "and I will show you why all this unseemly rout Give a lucid explanation what the scheme is all about" And I saw the face had brightened of this ancient miller man Took occasion by the forelock and introduced my plan "See" I said "this stately entrance, and the heavy oaken door In the hall an oaken staircase and a polished oaken floor; In this room the guests assemble with the family to dine And in converse intellectual wash the viands down with wine; Heat a spacious wide apartment where erstwhile your breastwheel turned Ease and luxury established where the mill your living earned; On the river and the meadows many ample windows look; In the housing of the breastwheel is a cosy ingle-nook There the kitchen where the cook will appetising savouries make Ah! I see your constitution has no stomach for a steak! On this floor where we are standing like the other floor above Are the bedrooms and the landing - rooms for rest and dreams of love This more sumptuous than the others has a fitted bathing place Which in all her youthful beauty will a gentle maiden grace; (Did I say "a gentle maiden"? this our age has rampant run Yours was simpering, gentle maiden - ours obstreperous Amazon!) When the winter winds are swelling as you know they howled of old Conduits warm run round the dwelling - What you are hot and cold? Thus I closed my long oration and in final effort tried To obtain his approbation that my work was justified But although intent I listened not a vocal sound I heard Brightly then his blue eyes glistened, meant for an approving word. Then I said in accents pleasant "you and I can understand Let us link the past and present - miller will you take my hand?" But ere I could reach the person something happened as a feared In an act of quick dispassion instantly he disappeared. I was left in contemplation standing in the mill alone Whilst the Bure in perturbation sang a ceaseless monotone; Now the interview was ended I to earth again returned Down the ladder I descended from the ghost a lesson learned; In the open, leafy alders, swaying sighing in the wind And the river sweeping onward - typical of human kind Picture of our roving, sighing, drifting on towards the sea To embark on new adventures - willy nilly - you and me And perchance in some long future when the Bure babbles still Through the meads of Itteringham a builder's ghost will haunt the mill. Ernest Edward Smith (71) - 1938 |
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Copyright © Jonathan Neville 2003 |