The Royal Oak - Meavy
Posted: Mon Apr 02, 2012 12:28 pm
MD The Royal Oak. Meavy
This old Inn, is at the centre of the village of Meavy. In a valley, just east of Yelverton, the village displays the atmosphere, of a farming community, with, no doubt, some input by the existence near by of mining activity.
The Inn, overlooks a green, which is the home of the old Oak tree. The tree, it is said, could date back a thousand years. With such a period of history, one can only wonder, who has stood beneath it’s branches. In itself, if you like, a tree of life.
To venture into the Inn, through a low entrance doorway, you are transported back into various times of feelings. Who had once sat where? The tales spoken by the old boys of the village, to younger ones, who believed every word, only to find in later life, that it was just a good yarn.
That old gent sat in the corner perhaps.
The Farmer George
Phew! A pong, what was that?
Smiling broadly, beneath ‘ese ‘at
Morning mate, ‘ow do ee?
You’m come to visit,down yer I see
Fed me chickens, milked me cow
Stirred me slurry, thats it for now
Come inside, ‘ave some tea
Me missus, ‘er bake a cake for ‘ee
Country life, ‘aint bad you know
‘ave to work ‘ard, to make things grow
All ‘n all, I’m doing alright
If those in Brussels, could get it right
Poun’ for poun’, I make a livin’
A little take and some givin’
Like a jar or two, down the pub
Then back for supper, an’ some grub
Mother, ‘er likes to go out too
Sends ‘er to market, ‘er ‘appy that’l do
I’ll bid ‘ee farewell now, been nice talking to ‘ee
If ‘ee pops into the Oak, say ‘ello to ‘em from me
‘er ma boy, shake us ‘and
Visit again, that’l be grand
Farmer George, were you all that it did seem
As the dawn breaks, yes, it was just only a dream.
This old Inn, is at the centre of the village of Meavy. In a valley, just east of Yelverton, the village displays the atmosphere, of a farming community, with, no doubt, some input by the existence near by of mining activity.
The Inn, overlooks a green, which is the home of the old Oak tree. The tree, it is said, could date back a thousand years. With such a period of history, one can only wonder, who has stood beneath it’s branches. In itself, if you like, a tree of life.
To venture into the Inn, through a low entrance doorway, you are transported back into various times of feelings. Who had once sat where? The tales spoken by the old boys of the village, to younger ones, who believed every word, only to find in later life, that it was just a good yarn.
That old gent sat in the corner perhaps.
The Farmer George
Phew! A pong, what was that?
Smiling broadly, beneath ‘ese ‘at
Morning mate, ‘ow do ee?
You’m come to visit,down yer I see
Fed me chickens, milked me cow
Stirred me slurry, thats it for now
Come inside, ‘ave some tea
Me missus, ‘er bake a cake for ‘ee
Country life, ‘aint bad you know
‘ave to work ‘ard, to make things grow
All ‘n all, I’m doing alright
If those in Brussels, could get it right
Poun’ for poun’, I make a livin’
A little take and some givin’
Like a jar or two, down the pub
Then back for supper, an’ some grub
Mother, ‘er likes to go out too
Sends ‘er to market, ‘er ‘appy that’l do
I’ll bid ‘ee farewell now, been nice talking to ‘ee
If ‘ee pops into the Oak, say ‘ello to ‘em from me
‘er ma boy, shake us ‘and
Visit again, that’l be grand
Farmer George, were you all that it did seem
As the dawn breaks, yes, it was just only a dream.