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2024-07-07T13:30:02Z

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It’s said, at every Halloween, 
Beneath dark, dreary skies, 
That, from deep Kielder’s waters, 
The old farms do arise.

The men rise up a’ working 
And tending to their sheep, 
While children play in all the fields 
So green and lush and deep.

There’s Whickhope and its Valley, 
Where once the salmon swam 
Along the streams so lovely, 
Now flooded by the Dam.

There’s Emmethaugh and Wellhaugh, 
Shilburnhaugh, The Belling, too, 
And Mounces and its meadows 
That every sportsman knew.

The lovely fields of Otterstone, 
Extending to the Border, 
Rise up against the flooding foe 
And stand above the water.

And other farms appear again, 
Hawkhirst, Leaplish, The Law, 
And Lewie, each a shepherd’s home, 
Where sheep grazed by the score.

And finally comes Bewshaugh, 
Ten houses and the farm; 
Now all of these rise silent 
And showing still their charm.

But find yourself on Viaduct, 
Above the waters blue, 
And you may sense a rattling train, 
Its steam and ghostly crew.

The view you see is Plashetts, 
The houses, farm and shop, 
The railway station and the trains, 
We thought would always stop.

So when, on Kielder’s shore, you gaze 
O’er waters grey and cold, 
Just think about the farms below 
And shepherd folk of old.

[[Category:Songs and Poems]]

Lost Houses - Revision history

Steve: Initial page