I welcome original contributions in the form of verse, creative writing, or artwork from those interested in having a slot on this website to give their creation a wider audience.

The Ballad of Peppermint Billy A ballad inspired by the fascinating case involving one of Leicestershire's most brutal murderers. William Brown, known as 'Peppermint Billy', was a returned convict from Van Diemen's Land. He was captured, tried, and eventually convicted for the murder of the Tollgate Keeper and his grandson at Thorpe Arnold near Melton Mowbray. His was the last public hanging at Leicester. It took place in front of a crowd of 25, on the 25th July 1856. The Toll House, where the murder took place, was pulled down in 1875 at the expiration of the Turnpike Trust, but just two years earlier, the author's grandfather was born in that very house, so the story has been in his family for many, many years.
I. The wind races in the midland hamlets, The argent moon looks down and frowns Fox the copse and hill he crowns, As curtained clouds hang down in ringlets. The wind dances through the midland house, Billy leaves the yard with silver ladles But dozen spoons the flagstone cradles. As 'larm is raised and dogs give chase. The wind cuts through midland thickets, Billy's cornered as constable arrives Urgently for home he strives, As for other worlds he's picked his tickets.	The wind murmurs in midland Assizes, Billy to the jury swears But stolen silverware itself declares, As 'transportation' the boy despises. The wind races in the midland hamlets, The argent moon looks down and frowns Fox the copse and hill he crowns, As curtained clouds hang down in ringlets.
II. The wind sings in the southern recesses, Eucalypts swing, a kookaburra sings The mountain bends her head and clings, As ruddled sky paints all in scarlet dresses. The wind rustles through the southern skies, Peppermint Billy sojourns there Transported, stolen silverware, As felon loses friends and family ties. The wind chirrups in the southern lands, Van Dieman's inhospitable but teaches Worked his ticket Bible preaches, As through his fingers run the golden sands.	The wind whistles in the southern ports, Under licence Billy sails North to England's midland vales, As to a sweetheart fly his thoughts. The wind sings in the southern recesses, Tall trees swing, a kookaburra sings The mountain bends her head and clings, As ruddled sky paints all in scarlet dresses.
III. The wind rustles in the midland fields, The gibbous moon hides her face and thinks Fox licks cubs as light sinks, As love unexpected its pleasure yields. The wind whistles through the midland cities, Billy meets his brother's wife Blind romance a heady cup of strife, As Ann and Billy's love time pities. The wind howls through the midland towns, The pair star-crossed enjoy their freedom Hotel room their sussurate fiefdom, As brother's grief his rejection crowns.	The wind scurries through the midland villages, Ann from Billy turns Bitter the news he learns, As love his broken heart it pillages. The wind rustles in the midland fields, The gibbous moon hides her face and thinks Fox licks cubs as light sinks, As love thwarted its pleasure yields.
IV. The wind sings in the eastern shires, The moon cocks her head and listens Fox from hounds his trail hastens, As bells ring out from countless spires. The wind whistles through the eastern counties, The sunken church the Water rides Billy in the Toll House bides, As Death rides in to claim his bounties. The wind through eastern hamlets tears, Edward and his grandson dead From the Toll House Billy flees, As hue and cry give way to prayers.	The wind scurries through the eastern parishes, Billy through the Vale of Belvoir Rushes headlong to a train, As news of the evil killing flourishes. The wind sings in the eastern shires, The moon cocks her head and listens Fox from hounds his trail hastens, As bells ring out from countless spires.
V. The wind echoes in the northern skies, Dale side the moon creaks As fugitive the covert seeks, As hounds give tongue and rumour flies. The wind chirrups through northern recesses, Billy gone to ground he tires Perhaps not meets his heart's desires, As freckled boy's report the inn addresses The wind whiffles through the northern ridings, Scent gone cold but Billy thirsts For friendly pint; the pub bursts, As Bobby and the publican hear the tidings.	The wind shuffles in the northern shires, Billy panics taken unawares To the open door he tears, As thronging mob his capture aspires. The wind echoes in the northern skies, Dale side the moon creaks As fugitive the covert seeks, As hounds give tongue and rumour flies.
VI. The wind sings in the eastern borders, The moon looks down and ponders Fox his lonely trail he wanders, As bells ring out the peace disorders. The wind screams through the eastern parishes, Billy now arrested, he entrains Back to Melton prison he remains, As judge and jury this murder punishes. The wind caresses the eastern shires, Billy on the gallows swings To his Maker Billy wings, As debts are paid as law requires.	The wind whistles in the eastern counties, Billy's dead his story lives Melton's past a flavour gives, As peppermint does for children's parties. The wind sings in the eastern borders, The moon looks down and ponders Fox his lonely trail he wanders, As bells ring out the peace disorders.         Submitted by ...         Kevin Wood ... Feb.-March 2003

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The Miner 'Geordie Verse', submitted by the author, Malcolm Armstrong. Malcolm was himself a miner at Greenside Colliery, Durham, in the 1950s before joining the army and serving with R.E.M.E. attached to the King's Hussars. His first-hand description of work at the coal face and of washing down the dust with beer afterwards tells it all.       GEORDIE MINER'S GLOSSARY tab ... Geordie term for cigarette. the set ... a number of coal tubs hitched together. the bull ... a device that hangs off the back of the last tub in the set, to stop the set running backwards in the event of the haulage rope breaking. hoggers ... the long hoses that connect the windy pick to the compressor. windy pick ... local term for a pneumatic drill or hammer gallewas ... the pit ponies. to bank ... means going back to the surface.		"For The People By The People" NUM Greenside Lodge Banner
	1. I've served abroad in the queen's good name, and travelled on tanks and ships, but the memories that stay most clear in my mind are of days when I worked down the pit.	2. We wore short pants, and carried hand lamps, and knew for a tab we would crave, so we'd have our last drags, pick up our bags, and climb up the steps to the cage.
...	3. We'd sit hunkered down, swapping our yarns, till we finally arrived at the bottom, then walk in-by with our backs bent low, and the surface would soon be forgotten.	4. As we made our way in, the rails would sing, so we'd dive in a manhole for cover, then the set would roar past, with the bull on the back, and the timbers would shiver and shudder.
	5. Further in-by the deputy would sit, in his gloomy little dug-out, known by us as the Kist, he'd check safety lamps, and not one would he miss, then cadge a chew from some lad's baccy twist.	6. Once on the face there was work to be done, but first we made sure that the pumps were switched on, for the water that soaks from the overhead stream, seems to collect in this one small seam.
	7. Then with hoggers screwed on, and pick blades tightened in, we'd hew out the coal and put props and planks in, and with only one stop for a jam sandwich bait, we'd soon have it off from louse end to tailgate.	8. When the shift was over, we'd tramp out to the shaft, only stopping to let the "gallewas" past, then to bank in the cage, and when we were there, by-god it was good to breathe the fresh air,
	9. When we got home, In the tin tub we'd sit, having a soak, while we ate bread and dip, then after our dinner, we'd set off for town, to have a few beers, to wash the dust down.	10. Those are the days I'll remember, when with my grand- bairns I sit, And when they ask for a story, I'll tell them about the pit ...

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Kieran O'Lenahan Until he died in 1996, Kieran, who was born in Ireland, lived and worked in Huntingdon. He cared passionately for the environment and made sure his voice was heard on local issues. A number of his verses are published on the 'In Memoriam' website. (Click on the highlighted link to visit).

Lament to Portholme Sweet meadow where one could walk entranced in solitude, alone. Lost in an immensity of open spaces; disturbed only by the Skylark's song. Skylarks soaring, singing, as the day was long. Walking amidst wild flowers and the flowers were many, knee deep in a blossoming throng, alas! Sweet birds, sweet flowers, sweet solitude, all, all, are gone. No profit in solitude of a Skylark's song. Where man's soul soars among the Skylarks knee deep in blossoming flowers bulldoze it, rape beauty! Progress, profit greed alone, but not alone in beauty man destroys when greed reigns supreme, there is no beauty no love no feeling no peace all sacrificed all must cease, when Mammon reigns and man's soul sleeps, there is no other end no future Death Destruction Desecration There is money in it! Skylarks flowers lost entrancing meadows perished for ignoble ends.

Submitted by ... Richard Lee Creator of the 'In Memoriam' website. I am indebted to him and to Kieran's family for permission to reproduce this poem.

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