Today is Valentine’s day. That may fill you with joy, misery, or indifference depending on your relationship status and how satisfied you are with it. Whatever the case, it will be almost impossible to avoid the cheesy shop displays everywhere full of cards with nauseating messages, cheap chocolate, and so very many roses. In honour of the day, I have decided to post two romantic poems.
This first poem/song was inspired by a small town in Yorkshire called Howarth where the Brontë Parsonage is located. While visiting the Brontë Parsonage over the Christmas holiday, I was very amused to find that, as you walk over the small bridge that leads you out of Howarth station, you arrive at Butt Lane. At the top of Butt lane, where it meets the high street, is Purvs corner.
This poem tells the tale of a couple who were brought together, torn apart, and then ultimately reunited by Butt Lane.
The Bridge to Butt Lane
Did we go walking hand in hand
Across this bridge, so small but grand?
And is it known in all the land?
The beautiful bridge to Butt Lane
You said your parents went there too
Some years ago, they went with you
Your sister and your brothers too
Crossed over the bridge to Butt Lane
Oh would you know me if we met there in Butt Lane?
If we went sliding in the Autumn in the rain?
If we departed and left only skids again?
Oh the skids that we would leave there in Butt Lane!
How many others through the years
Have crossed that bridge with joy or tears?
And did they then, with hopes and fears
Cross over the bridge to Butt Lane?
And did a house on either cheek
Draw up the window, try to speak
Some words of comfort to the weak
Who crossed the bridge to Butt Lane?
And I still think of how we laughed there in Butt Lane
The steam engulfed us as it rose up from the train
And then I wiped away my tears in the rain
Oh how I wiped there in Butt Lane!
But once Butt Lane was far from sweet
The locals loathed the sound of feet
With angry words and scowls they’d meet
Those crossing the bridge to Butt Lane
And even we, it’s sad but true
Were not made welcome, not us two
The townsfolk came and pushed us through
The narrow bridge from Butt Lane
Do you remember when they pushed us from Butt Lane?
When we surrendered to the heartache and the pain?
And when we thought we’d never see that lane again?
Oh we were pushed out of Butt Lane!
I marked the passing of each day
And waited ’til I heard them say
All bitterness had blown away
Had blown out of Butt Lane
Crowds gathered tooting horns with glee
Such beauty in Butt Lane to see!
Among them tooted you and me
We tooted in Butt Lane
And if, by chance or fate, we came to own Butt Lane
Then we would never let it leave our sight again
How we’d go up it so! No matter what the strain!
Oh we’d go up our own Butt Lane!