I expect you've heard me sometime tell

Of Hawkins Brothers Cider Well -

Now here's a tale to cool your blood,

The Lower Townsend Cider Flood!


All through May the sun had shone,

Moisture from the ground was gone

Whilst gardeners viewed the sky in vain,

Looking for a steady rain.


Our neighbour's wife had got quite keen

To beautify her garden scene.

Indeed it almost seemed like folly

The way, en plants, she spent her lolly!


Her greenhouse full of plants she filled,

Outside each inch of ground was tilled

And filled with plants beyond belief

With every sort of flower and leaf.


When the summer drought began

You'd see her with watering can

Give a drink to each dry root

Like raindrops dripping down a chute.


Her patience failed as day by day

The green leaves slowly turned to hay:

Where could she find, where could she get

A source to make her 'pretties' wet?


Her husband in the coalshed had

Chideock Cider, poor old lad,

A drink you wouldn't call the worst

On summer days for quenching thirst.

In dire extremity that garden maid

On cider tap green fingers laid;

Just a turn, she turned the tap

Apple juice poured across the map.


Across the concrete to the pond,

Into the flower beds beyond,

A flood of lovely scrumpy went

For the flowers - 'twas heaven sent !


Among the plants it soaked and oozed,

The herbs were first to get quite boozed.

The marjoram jumped from the ground,

With the thyme danced round and round.


The greenfly on the roses slurped

Tomato plants bent down and burped

The Hollyhocks just formed a ring

Then did a sort of Highland Fling.


 The frog came from the pond to see

What all this carry-on could be.

The goldfish stuck there in the pool

Thought that life was rather cruel.

A lady blackbird on the hut

Was quite annoyed and said 'tut-tut'

Whilst starlings guzzling down below

In unison all said 'Good show!'


People came from all around

To see this quite amazing ground

Where drunken plants could dance and play

And alcohol just ruled the day.


The Parish council yapped and went

Taking over, their intent.

Revenue might here be made

If their cards, they crafty played.

The bosses of the National Trust

Thought drunken gardens were a must

But we all told them, 'No! No fear!'

'You push off, for we live here!'


The Tourist Board or so they say,

Made a bid for this display.

Unluckily there came some rain

Which washed the Cider down the drain.


In future there'll be no such spree,

The Cider's under lock and key.

It's watering with can or hose,

Teetotal flowers and sober Rose!

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