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St George’s News - Waterlooville’s Parish Magazine

The Website for St George’s Church, Waterlooville and its Parish Magazine St George’s News

Christmas 2020 issue

Golden Treasury

The Hall Clock

For forty years and five, I’ve told

The time in houses new and old:

In every corner of the home

My voice still makes the hour known.

I never grouse when folk abuse,

Or say they’d rather hear the News

When I am chiming; just in case

You cannot see my hands and face.

At dead of night, when all’s asleep,

My watch on darkest hours I keep:

So if you toss and turn, or wake,

Or lie and wait for dawn to break

My voice is sure to tell the time —

The hours I strike and quarters chime.

Upon the wall I hang quite numb

To incidents, and also dumb —

And yet I speak, as I have said,

Forget to wind me.... I am dead.

Though the years have tired my springs,

Mechanical wheels and inner things;

Though time has worn a harsher sound

And slower move my hands around;

My bells, the milestones of the minutes,

Record the passing of the infinite.

Gillian M Griffiths 1971

On Television

What is this life if we can spare

No time, except to sit and stare.

No time to visit friends and chat

Of times gone by, of this and that.

No time for charities or church,

For chess, or physical research.

No time for pubs or politics,

For picnics or for party tricks.

No time to read or sew or knit,

For carpentry or keeping fit.

No time to swim or learn to fly,

For music, books or DIY.

A poor life this if we can spare

No time, except to sit and stare.

W G Hutchings


“Get up!”, “Get dressed!”, “Eat your breakfast!”

That’s my mum.

“Sit up!”, “Be quiet!”, “Get on with your work!”

That’s my teacher.

But my Gran is different.

She says:

“Please will you do this.”

“Would you like to sit here?”

But then, my Gran is old fashioned.

James Mancz (when aged 9)


There was a young man from Tyne,

Who disliked the Limerick line,

He thought all those rules

Were for silly old fools,

So he made the last line last as long as he could get away with while there was still ink in his pen and maybe not even let it scan!

Roderick Starr

As a ‘taster’ to the publication of the new St George’s Poem Book, 6th EditionLife under lockdown — which is for sale this Christmas as a perfect stocking filler, we are running a series of extracts from previous Poem Books.

To secure your copy of the new Poem Book contact: j.rice-oxley@stgeorges.church

Dear Santa Claus

“Dear Santa Claus,” wrote Mary Ann,
“I really do think that a pram

Would be the very, very thing

I’d wish a Santa Claus would bring.

Please make it big and make it blue,

With room for dolls and teddy too,

And if the bedding comes with it,

No sheets and blankets snuggly fit.

A modern pram, my friends all say,

Should sport a Pokémon duvet.”

At dead of night on Christmas Eve,

Poor Santa Claus did shove and heave,

Until the pram was safely there,

Down chimney dark and with much care

He dusted down his sooty coat,

And shook his beard and cleared his throat.

Climbed out the hearth with happy thought,

Of Mary’s joy at what he’d brought.

And all the way to Mary’s door,

A tip-toeing on creaking floor,

To find upon young Mary’s bed

Another note, and this one read:

“Dear Santa Claus, re Message 1,

I really was just having fun,

But then, of course, you know I am

Now much too grown up for a pram.

And (if it’s possible, of course),

I’d very much prefer a horse!”

Janet Johnson

A Sonnet of Snowdrops

From earth frostbound in grip of winter’s power

Arise the Snowdrops, crystal white and pure;

Sweet heralds of the spring, they stand demure.

In bitter biting winds yet comes this dower

Of modesty and grace, this dainty flower.

So delicate of form yet strong and sure

That in the harshest days they can endure;

Proof that Spring will come with April sun and shower.

Thus loving human hearts, as strong and true

Withstand the buffetings and storms of life

And ever shed, on all around, a Joy

That in the darkest times will guide them through.

Such kindly souls spread peace among the strife

For theirs a faith that nothing can destroy.

Dorothea Keable

The Witch

Come hither girl and eat my food,

An apple - one bite, it will do you good,

We’re all alone in this dark wood,

There’s no escape for you.

And when I’ve got you in my power

I’ll chop you up within the hour,

And your little bones I will devour

’Cos that’s what witches do.

Oh no! Oh no! She cried out in alarm.

My mother said you’d do me harm.

In times like this I must keep calm.

I will not take your brew.

The girl ran fast in the tangly gloom,

The witch swooped down— zoom, zoom,  zoom,

And caught her back on her bezum    broom

And away they flew.

Gently shook, the girl woke with a scream

Still unaware that this was but a dream,

Her smiling mother gave her cocoa and cream,

And a biscuit too.

Nightmares are the stuff of sleep,

They cause you fear, they make you weep.

But when you see the light of day

All pains and sorrows melt away.

Rod Dawson