Widecombe Fair © 2008 Beryl Dyson

We had heard of Tom Pearse who loaned his grey mare
To carry Tom Cobley to Widecombe Fair;
By luck or by chance, but mainly design,
We went to the Fair, the weather divine.

People with buggies, cans, bottles and baggage,
Struggled up hill to the well renowned village,
Where shops overflowed with all kinds of ware,
Mementoes and tokens of Widecombe Fair.

Welcoming laughter, the smell of food cooking,
Jostling and shouting or people just looking,
Bunting and streamers and pretty balloons,
While ambling musicians played popular tunes.

The Widecombe Green held the fair entourage,
A medley of stalls for fun, by and large.
A carousel spinning, bedecked with bright lights,
Had adults and youngsters in whirls of delights.

In the calm of the church, an organ played,
For musical favours donations were paid.
We listened awhile to this musical treat,
Then ambled again with folk in the street.

On show in Fair Field, were ponies and sheep,
Onions and carrots, large marrows, red beet,
Pasties and cakes and the pride of The Fair,
Old Uncle Tom Cobley astride his grey mare.

The mare’s feet were trimmed, her shoes were replaced
By the farrier who’d won the cross-country race.
The old shoes were auctioned, bids all around,
And the charity gained by one hundred pounds.

With tankards of cider to help them along,
We leave the lads singing the Widecombe song.
We’ll remember our day at Widecombe Fair,
The music, the laughter, and of course, the grey mare.