Oh, I'm a great Castle, famous and old,
My spirit is turbulent, stormy and bold,
I peer from up high on a huge sandstone rock,
I've learned to be strong and endure any shock.
The Conqueror, William, said here I should stand,
When, in 1068, a great stronghold he planned,
He charged William Peveril to see the work done,
(When he spoke about Peveril, he called him,'My Son').
I first sprang to being, constructed of wood,
My protection from fire was not very good,
But I didn't worry, I knew if that came,
I'd rise, like a Phoenix, and soar through the flame.
I've known many Monarchs, down endless decades,
King Richard, you know, went to fight the Crusades,
He gave me to John, who turned out to be bad,
When he died of a fever just no one was sad.
King Edward the second was murdered, I heard,
By whom, and what reason, I can't say a word,
I'll just tell you this, Isabella, his Queen,
Was often with young Roger Mortimer seen.
Young Edward the third, his eyes flashed with fire,
He swore he'd avenge the cruel death of his sire,
He had his suspicions who'd done this foul deed,
So, in darkness, to Nottingham, Edward did speed.
He dragged Roger Mortimer through a great hole,
Then drove him to London, 'The Tower' was his goal,
So, after his deeds, both dire and dirty,
Roger was hanged in the year 1330.
Time passed and then Cromwell began to be known,
I was almost demolished, (except for a stone),
They built me again, as a Palace, this time,
I think that the year would be one-six-seven-nine.
Well, now I'll pass on, to one-eight-three-one,
I was then a black ruin, my beauty all gone,
For Reform Rioters came, and set me on fire,
I must say my patience was starting to tire!
I remained as a ruin for forty long years,
'Til the Notts. Corporation said, "Dry your sad tears",
And they made me a wondrous Museum of Art,
In England's proud history, I still play my part!
by
Shirley Frances Winskill 1985
