Beryl Shepard Leece
St Hilary of Poitiers, Wallasey
The Old Church Tower (1530)
Does it really date back to the Tudor times,
The old church tower on the rise?
Where the gargoyles peer from the parapet,
With their dead unblinking eyes.
And the windows that gaze to the far off hills,
And the gravestones to the sea.
Did the souls who trod these paths before,
See the view like you and me?
And did they worship in these walls,
And hear the old bells ring.
And from the door of the little school,
Hear the children’s voices sing.
And the tiny door to the twisting stair,
So worn from bygone feet,
Elizabethan, Regency,
A Victorian retreat.
And if these ancient stones could speak,
And tell of bygone days.
Would they tell of smugglers and sailing ships
Of storms and lashing waves.
And the nestling farmsteads ‘neath the hill,
With the bustling village Inn,
The old Forge and the Rectory,
With it’s garden neat and trim.
Touch with your hand these weathered stones,
And step through the gnarled oak door.
And feel the spirit of the past,
High on this rocky tor.
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