Weaving is interwoven into the very landscape of this narrow sunless valley.
Not so long ago here in the mills limbs were wrenched from bodies,
Young bodies bent, misshapen, gnarled,
Old before their time.
Those who sought escape were confined – horribly.
Indoor sanitation in the town was non existent.
Death came early.
No wonder Hell Hole Rocks look down on such a scene.
Even the Town Hall has its skeletons, not locked in the cupboard where they should be
But happily displayed in the window for all to see.
Today the wicked lady
Casts her multiple eyes about her
A wrecked Mercedes sulks beneath the weaving shed
Now adorned with vibrant colours.
The once deafening clatter of its looms now silent
Allowing birds to build perfectly formed nests atop abandoned trees.
A jelly fish high in another tree captures the wicked lady’s attention.
She wonders if she needs a self testing kit to test her sanity
So she stops for sustenance at the bakery.
There’s as much chance of seeing blue sky today as there is of seeing pie in the sky.
‘I’m not a cactus expert but I know a prick when I see one’
Whispers the Santa hatted bottle
But she hurries onwards,
While a bemused Cheshire cat looks on with a twinkle in his eye
Wondering what on earth the elephants are doing.