Old Alf

Old Alf is the oldest inhabitant.
He says that he's ninety and four,
Some say he can't be as old as all that
And others that he could be more.
If you can persuade him to talk of the past,
And a pint will soon loosen his tongue,
He will tell you such tales that if they were all true
Its a wonder old Alf was not hung.
There's the time he went poaching on Squire Hope's land
and was caught, bird in hand, by a keeper.
It was lucky he was wearing his old leather coat
or the shot would have gone in much deeper.
He will talk of old days when the village was known
For 'white horses, brick walls and old maids'
He will talk of his friends who are now dead and gone
And the steadily vanishing trades.
Of the blacksmith whose forge has no fire in it now
And his own craft that no-one can match.
Old Alf is a craftsman whose work is now done,
He's a thatcher with no roofs to thatch.