Yesterday I was flying my drone above a small wood on the farm known as ‘The Rough Field’. This is actually not a bad name for the small wooded area as it was the location of an inn in the Seventeenth Century called The Tabbard. It was next to the old Icknield Way, an ancient Roman Road, popular with drovers and had a field (presumably to house the drovers animals overnight) called Fiddler’s Mead. Its fate is described by the name of the track leading down to it from what is now the main road to Baldock, one can only presume that activities in the inn at Rough Field led to the naming of Burnthouse Lane…
“I’ve walked many a few miles,
these last few days,” said the drover.
“I’ve avoided rogues and thieves,
on my journey down to Dover!
And now I’m ready,
to sup a quart of ale,
lay my hand upon a wench,
and listen to many a drunken tale!
My sheep are safely grazing
in the meadow called Fiddlers Mead,
bring me a jug of ale,
I have not patience left to plead.”
Later that terrible night,
in the light of the full moon,
drunken drovers started fighting,
it was over all too soon.
Our drover bleeding and staggering
with the bolt across the door,
fell into the fireplace,
drover and inn were no more!
Wishing you a good day. May your sheep never wander and your glass always be full
© Baldock Bard 2017
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E-mail: simon.holtom@btconnect.com
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