Climb on your Heritage
We climb, we dig.
The wood is new.
Bright, yet to tarnish and darken.
We are new.
We are the light in this lighthouse.
See the crane? We can lift things.
Look at the diggers, no rubbish or cement dust here.
Beneath us, of course, the rubbish of centuries.
We are light upon it.
Sound the fog bell,
Muffled by the past,
Before we are struck again,
By barges of those who choose not to see
That we are the light in this lighthouse.
From stories told in South Ockendon Library, and writing by students of St Clere's School
The wood is new.
Bright, yet to tarnish and darken.
We are new.
We are the light in this lighthouse.
See the crane? We can lift things.
Look at the diggers, no rubbish or cement dust here.
Beneath us, of course, the rubbish of centuries.
We are light upon it.
Sound the fog bell,
Muffled by the past,
Before we are struck again,
By barges of those who choose not to see
That we are the light in this lighthouse.
From stories told in South Ockendon Library, and writing by students of St Clere's School