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THE
TAMAR VALLEY GARDENS
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The Tamar Valley Gardens, the hills of green and gold,
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A steeply wooded hillside, a beauty rich unfolds,
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For anyone that's been there, for anyone that's seen,
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Sheer joy and pure pleasure, Fit for any Queen.
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Each
morning in the sky the sun will loom,
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Row
upon row of budding perfumed bloom,
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The
Tamar Valley steep with blue and green,
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Feast
your eyes upon this glorious scene.
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A
field of cream is ready now for the Easter-tide,
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A
feeling of contentment ,"Oh Lord with me abide"
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Each
year, hard work rewarded, as all unfold,
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A
field of cream replaced now by a field of gold.
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From
Valley floor to hilltop crest,
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The
workers find no time to rest,
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The
rush is on the crops are ready,
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Pickers,
bunchers, packers many,
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The
work is always there to do,in sunshine or in rain,
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Backache
or blisters, they can't stop,
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all
must be ready for the train.................
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A
quiet time now, a balmy twilight eve,
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The
Valley to outsiders will deceive,
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From
the sweat on their brow or the frost on their nose,
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Crop
after crop, Oh how the year goes
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But
the hustle and the bustle, the laughter and the cheer,
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Now
it is all gone !. There are no workers here........................
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From
Valley floor to cliff top crest, There are no pickers now to rest,
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Gone
the carpet of red and blue, another crop another hue,
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Gone
the swaying fields of gold and cream,
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gone
the carpets of the blue and green..........................
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No
more spring green or pale golden screen,
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No
rich ruby reds of the strawberry beds,
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No
cabbage or lettuce, potato or leek,
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Now
the Valley folk other work they must seek........................
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They
must travel away from the Valley, their home,
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They
must seek work afar, other lands they will roam.
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Gone
is the life blood from the Valley deep,
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Only
a memory now as they weep.......
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For
the Tamar Valley Gardens.
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MEMORIES
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Swimming
in the ocean
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donkey
rides across the sand,
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gathering
bluebells in the woods
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walking
hand in hand
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running
through the fields
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climbing
over wooden stiles,
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hiking
up and down the hills
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on
and on for miles
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lazing
in a dinghy,
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harvesting
the new mown hay,
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picking
juicy blackberries
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on
a summers day
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hiking
up a cliff,
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exploring
pirates caves,
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stranded
by the inward tide
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watching
foamy waves
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wintry
winds, cloudy skies
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rain
and snow and sleet,
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scarves
and hoods and duffle coats
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boots
for freezing feet
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singing
Christmas carols
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wanting
to be heard by many,
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knocking
doors and ringing bells
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hoping
for a penny
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standing
on the station
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watching
for the London train,
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counting
all the passengers
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coming
home again
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fish
and chips in newspaper,
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a
huge sticky tea treat bun,
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eating
pasties from a paper bag
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sitting
in the sun
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memories are precious things
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in the recesses of our mind,
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so give them to the world to see,
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a
legacy..... to leave behind
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CORNWALL
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Cornwall
is an ancient land
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Home
of the mighty Celt
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The
moors are strewn with monoliths
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Where
the fearless warriors knelt
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The
granite cliffs are weather worn
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Pitted
with tiny caves
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Hollowed
out through many years
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Of
constant crashing waves
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The
engine houses now stand empty
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And
the miners are digging no more
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Dispersed
to the other ends of the earth
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Still
seeking tin and copper ore
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Trawlers
lay idle in the harbours
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No
more do the pilchards run
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They
take day trips around the coastline
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For
a session of tourist fun
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But
Cornwall is still our heritage
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And
although we are miles apart
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She
is the land of our forebears
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So
remains ever dear to our heart
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