Winteringham Local History and Genealogy

Poetry by Winteringham People

John Foster (sometimes spelt Forster), shoemaker, of Winteringham had a book of poems published by R Noble of London, and sold for the author by White; Darton and Harvey; Chapman Keymer, Colchester, Browne, Hull, and Wilson & Co York, 1797.  The poems are of a chiefly religious nature, and there’s a recommendatory preface by Rev Robert Storry of Colchester.  Robert Storry had been the curate for Rev Adam at Winteringham from 1775 to 1780, and amongst those bookshops selling the book was Keymer’s of Colchester.  It cost 1 shilling on best paper, but sixpence if printed on inferior!  Click here for the John Foster page!

Winteringham Church by Agnes Codling, click here.
(Kindly supplied by Sandra Clayton)

The poem below was written down by the Curate (Mr Mitchell) as dictated by Ann Barratt.  A transcription is given below the scans.

Transcription of the above:

 

Lines to Queen Victoria on the death of the Prince Consort Return dear widow’d Queen, return, Why dwell so long in sad exile? For thee, fair Albion’s pride, we mourn, Come greet us with thy gracious smile. What’s though enveloped as thou art In sable weeds of saddest hue, Thou dwellst in every British heart, We are the loyal and the true. Thy royal robes thou’st cast away, Thy diadem of brilliant hue, Thy sceptre now has lost its sway, To mourn for one thou loved so true. Couldst thou behold that starry crown Encircled round his radiant brow, Methinks thy sorrows would go down, And bitter tears would cease to flow. Come with thy royal children dear, Father and Mother both unite (combine), Teach them the mighty God to fear, That they in glory all may shine. And when thy earthly course is run, And thou thy honours must lay down, By faith in Jesus it is won That great that glorious heav’nly crown. Then may you meet above the sky, And join that everlasting song, Where Hallelujahs never die In praise of the Great Three in One. Composed by Ann Barratt, a poor woman aged 74, of Winteringham, Lincolnshire, 1862.  The words were taken down by the Curate as dictated by the old woman.   Although described here as “the old woman”, Ann lived for another 20 years.  After the terrible storm of December 1874, Ann wrote a poem about the rescue of 15 people at Winteringham.  Her poem was published as a penny broadsheet by Peck of Hull, and can be read (together with a newspaper description of the events) here

Winteringham Church

In Winteringham towards the west
Stands All Saints Church, ancient and blest
Its architectural beauty is to all a joy and pride
The glory of its arches my pen cannot describe

The beautiful stained glass windows fill us with delight
When sunlights streaming through them, or in the shades of night;

The figures there depicted -  those marvellous works of art,
Portray man's love of beauty, which God Himself imparts.

I gaze upon the cross with fervent bated breath,
For me "The Man of  Sorrows went to a shameful death;
But now He reigns above the sky,
And pleads for sinners (such as I).

There's God's most holy altar, where none our hope can mar,
And lectern with an eagle its wings outspreading far;
The pulpit where the priest resorts,
To preach his sermon, read reports.

An effigy most famous lies in a deep recess,
A cross-legged knight in armour, a shield upon his breast;
'Tis said he was a Marmion of valour and renown
Who fought with the Crusaders to win a heavenly crown.

The font with its canopy towering above
An emblem of mystery, redemption and love;
Vestry, belfry, brass tablets, chancel and nave,
The church is complete pave upon pave.

The bells, glorious bells, call on to prayer
Sometimes they're tolling, but it's not despair;
Or perhaps they are pealing, so be not forlorn,
To tell of the Christchild born Christmas morn.

The swell of the organ falls on my ear,
My thoughts ride above to those who are dear;
Saviour and loved ones I feel they are near,
Why go any further?  My ideal is here!

Agnes Codling

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