|
|
 |
Writer profile
Born in 1931, on the outskirts of Nottingham, Peter Fooks has worn
a variety of hats in his life: as Seaman, Grocer, trainee rosarian,
SolicitorÂ’s dogsbody, Civil Servant, Scout Leader and hill-walker
– to name but a few!
Having now retired, he is better able to indulge
his life-long interest in writing. His greatest success so far has
been in the compilation of a number of popular walking guides, but
he has also produced some moderately successful poetry and fiction.
A happily married family man for over forty
years, Peter has three grown up children and eight grandchildren.
Writer's Work - Larks rise at Eakring
"Above the fields a skylark heavenward
soars,
as did the psalms the faithful people sang
so long ago, upon a lonely hill by Pulpit Ash, beyond the parish bounds."
* * *
"WhatÂ’s your name, mister?" the
boy asked.
"William," the man replied. "William Mompesson"
"You are the new vicar, arenÂ’t you?"
"ThatÂ’s right."
"Why are you sitting up here, mister?"
"Because I like it up here. The Ash trees in bloom; the gentle
breeze; the skylarks."
"Why donÂ’t you come down to Eakring mister? To the church?"
"Oh, they donÂ’t want me down there, boy. IÂ’m much
better off, much happier where I am. I donÂ’t need a church.
I am used to preaching out of doors. I have had plenty of practice."
"Where do you come from, mister?"
"Oh, a long way from here. A place called Eyam."
"YouÂ’ve got the plague havenÂ’t you mister? ThatÂ’s
what they say."
"ThatÂ’s what they say. But it isnÂ’t true. That is
all in the past."
"I know. So why donÂ’t you come down and tell them?"
"Because they wouldnÂ’t believe me. I cannot blame them.
After all, the plague killed most of my flock. It killed my wife.
It should have killed me, but God, I suppose, had other ideas for
me."
"Will you show me where you live, mister?"
"Oh, I donÂ’t think that would be a good idea. ItÂ’s
only a rough old hut in the woods. And you shouldnÂ’t come too
close to me. You know what people will say."
"I donÂ’t care what people would say. And my dad wouldnÂ’t
mind. He thinks like I do."
"I really donÂ’t think it would be a good idea."
"But please! Let me come with you. Let me help you, run errands
for you, carry messages. Let me be your disciple!"
* * *
"And once again, as in the plague-bound days,
Mompesson preached the word beneath the heavens. And now, by Pulpit
Ash, there stands his cross, and here the joyful lark His praises
sings."
|
