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W

elcome, Friends and Countrymen, lend us your eyes,

As we take you to a place full of Beauty and Charm.

Join us where the fields are full of Wonder and Surprise, And we hope that you enjoy these Tails of Church Farm...


m

y owners they love me, guests all give me attention,

I play games, scavenge treats and make mischief galore. I roam with terrier friends from butchery to kitchen,

I am Oscar, the Waygoods’ Chocolate Brown Labrador.


O

ne is stumpy and black, the other’s long and pink,

One has sticky-up ears, the other big ones that flop.

They snuffle and tumble and make one wonder what they think, Meet the Pigs! The doughty Berkshire and the noble British Lop.


t

urning mould and detritus into farmers’ black gold,

We’re crucial to living soils, but we’re killed by chemical sprays. So it’s nice to know we’re cherished here, where we know we can grow old, We are the worms, and we will turn, if you don’t respect our wiggly ways.


I

love to eat the bunnies, the voles, rats and mice,

That I spot from the air as I hover in mid-flight,

And there’s more for me here where the farming’s got right, I’m the majestic, the magnificent, the soaring Red Kite.


t

he pastures here are rich with clover and herbs

And the sight of our splendour gets passions aroused. We’re the pride of the fields and the envy of other herds For we are the Church Farm Red Poll Cows.


t

he delicate Cuckoo Flower’s the only place I lay my eggs,

So over-zealous strimming means I’ve failed before I try,

But I’m holding my own here, where they go beyond rules and regs, Can you spot me? The rare Orange Tip Butterfly.


A

lways bold and brave, I go where I please,

But the idea I spread disease is frankly absurd.

I’ve found refuge here amid shady banks of trees Yes I am the Badger and I will not be disturbed.


s

quawking and quacking, gaggling and gobbling,

Until Christmas comes ‘round they can’t believe their luck. It’s a blissful existence in shady woodland with high fencing, Meet the meat poultry! The Turkey, the Goose and the Duck.


c

lucking and strutting ‘neath young apples and pears,

Our yolks come out orange thanks to plant-based vitamins. We specialise is scratching and long sideways stares, Yes we are the rare-breed free-range Orchard Hens.


D

espite beer traps and egg shells, blue pellets and bundled wool, We devour young flowers and demolish tender veg.

If the gardeners let their guard down, we’ll feast ‘til we are full, Beware the slugs! We lurk waiting in long grasses by the hedge.


p

laying at king of the castle and chasing each other around,

Watch us up to our antics as we hop, skip, frolick and gambol. When you see our care-free cavorting it’s impossible to frown, So give us a hand, we are the lambs, and don’t you agree we’re adorable?


m

aking honey and making sure that all flowers cross-pollinate,

There would be no more plants, no more food without me.

So on my special significance I must ask you to pontificate, I’m the busiest, I’m the buzziest, I’m the emblematic Bee.


Tales of Church Farm Ardeley