There's an empty meadow now
Where the Village Hall once stood,
Really just an oversized hut
Built of seasoned planked wood.
For years the centre of village life.
At times a theatre, a cinema,
A party venue a dance hall,
Home of meetings and occasions,
In its day it housed them all.
Almost a Rite of passage
At a certain age
To join the village Drama Group,
Tread the boards of its stage,
Face the girls across the room
In anticipation and fear
At the Village dances held
Two or three times a year .
Then with passing time each home
Became its own entertainment centre
With Tablets, PC's, Gameboys, TV's
A world non family didn't often enter
And the old Village Hall redundant
Unused, unsafe, falling into decay
Becoming an unsightly remnant
Torn down to be carted away.
Just an overgrown weed meadow
Where the old Village Hall stood.
We all called it The Hut, built of
Seasoned, coated planked wood,
That for so many long years
Had been the source of pleasure
In those less connected times
When people shared more leisure.
