A Loamhole Dingle

Happy Valentine’s weekend! A few years ago, while poring over maps of Shropshire, I got distracted from my research and wrote this silly (romantic?) ditty instead. How many Shropshire place names can you find in it?

A Loamhole Dingle
Marie Kreft

Knockin on her door one knighton
He said, “My dear sweet madeley,
I’m craven arms to aldon tight
And find you most beguildy.”

“Great Bolas!” she quatt. “I hopesay not.
I mean, you hadley know me.
It haughton do to acton that
I say you’ve gone too farley.”

(She was adderley in love with him
Her lust all pentre in.
But thought to feign a hardwick heart
The betton way to win.)

Woundale slight, he tried again,
His speech flood all a-rushton.
“I cannot sleap for thoughts of you,
No mind if it’s all newton.”

“I’ve nothing moreton say to you,”
Her words came out stoneacton.
“You’ll wait a longnor year for me.”
But her eyes lit quite albrighton.

Westhope filled his soul just then,
And pierced his myddle hotly.
“Wem I go you’ll miss me so,
‘Less you kenstone tell me not to?”

He’s no ditherington, she thought with glee.
And in bedstone there’s no doubt
That even if he uffington,
I wootton kick him out.


“I think you speak quite claverley:
A patton the back,” said she.
“But my besford says I’m comley
And the right man will purslow me.”

A hampton loade upon his mind
(Which worked at snailbeach pace),
He didn’t catch the blists hill look
A-twitchen ‘cross her face.

Winnington the girl was he
But he didn’t coton on.
He gave himself a peplow talk:
Now prees don’t be a clun.

“I’m a shelton of myself,” he said.
“And now I’ll rhewl this day.
You’re norton ounce in love with me.
There’s nothing morda say.”

She couldn’t under sandford
Why his words tern oh-so bitterley
And thought she’d better poynton out
That she loved him too, most muckley.

“You great grimpo! You nash your teeth
And tong upon my door.
Now colemere here, my love,” she said.
“I’ve wyken you since yore.”

A beambridge lit his handsome eyes
He’d never felt so chorley.
“Willstone you marry me?” he asked,
“And be my one and dawley?”

“That’s rushbury, but I don’t mind,”
And lushcott was her laughter.
“It’s yes! I derrington to think we’ll have
Our merrington ever after.”

“Yes, I derrington to think we’ll have
Our merrington ever after.” 

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