March 2010 Bishop Burton web site news

Last Updated (Friday, 05 March 2010 07:46) Written by Bryn Jones

Do you like the breaking news feature at the top of the page? Hope so. Do let me know if there's an urgent notice you need to put there about something in Bishop Burton.

If you are logged in, you'll notice a new "Private Messages" option below the "You are here" feature. This option provides access to a simple messaging facility that allows registered users of the web site to send brief messages to each other. Presently these messages are not notified via email but that might come. It includes a "captcha" feature which requires you to type in a few randomly chosen letters when you create a message - this should stop anyone spamming us. User names can be listed but some are not exactly helpful. If you're using the forum and viewing a topic/thread then there is a little button that enables you to create a message to be sent to the author of the topic without having to type in or select the user's name.

Bishop Burton village hall is now connected to the internet and has its own laptop thanks to the BT Community Connections scheme. It also means that visiting speakers and others can connect to the internet using their own laptops. Contact me at  This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it  if you wish to access this facility - terms and conditions may apply.

Do you have any stories, unpublished photos or letters that we can scan or put on the web site and share with others? You can contact me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it or 01964 550255.

Freedom

Last Updated (Friday, 05 March 2010 12:19) Written by Gina Douthwaite

At the first swathe of dawn

dogs wag and scramble

in a clockwork frenzy,

rummage in a slung wigwam

of twig and branch

scenting rabbit,

fox and mouse.

 

In this fractured wood

where ripped roots

reach like snakes from the graves of trees,

two deer,

mottled by morning,

appear.

 

Their presence drifts on a wave of breeze . . .

dogs freeze.

Then dart!

 

Deer break,

crash through sapless scrub . . .

one,

with rider-less grace,

clears the hedge and is gone.

 

The other bounds, uncertainly . . .

then sets herself into the rising sun

its ray a pathway

pulling up the hill.

This way. This way.

 

Dogs chase.

Gain ground.

She turns

and black, in miniature,

heaves beneath the halo of the day.

 

One way remains to win this race -

 

with instinct sharpened from the wild

and gambling theirs is man-made blunt

she stands

to call

her hunters` bluff . . .

 

In one, four-legged-leap

                                        she`s gone.