From a page out of my book, Ballad of Ernie Slow
I would like to begin with a piece by Alistair Mackintosh. Alistair owned Cloudy Peaks Station at one time, just on the outskirts of Kimbell. Away back in 1942, he wrote his reflections of Kimbell.
Much of Ernie’s escapades were captured around Silverstream, (Kimbell) and surrounding neighbourhood, in view of this, I considered this piece fitting to set the scene for us to begin our journey down memory lane.
Three Springs is the name of a spring where a flow of water bubbles continuously to serve the needs of the district.
Poplars, willows and oaks line a carriageway, where Mother Nature gently strokes her canvas, merging those first soft blushes of autumn.
Autumn on the Kimbell Road
Oh, autumn on the Kimbell Road, when brightly breaks the dawn
Whilst mists of morning melt away, and dewdrops cling to corn
And deck the jewels the spider webs that glint on the golden gorse
The gorse that guards the Silverstream, along it gentle course
The Silverstream that gurgles forth, where crystal Three Springs play
By shady trees on fragrant banks, it winds its careless way
By fragrant banks where musk and mint, and white flowered dark green cresses
Are playing with, and mingling with, the waterweed’s soft tresses?
Oh, autumn on the Kimbell Road, beneath the drowsing sun
The haystacks o’er the rolling downs, when harvest day is done
The mellow shades of Silver leaves, the Poplars blazing gold
The fiery flames of Rowan trees, are glories, God’s untold
Oh, autumn on the Kimbell Road, when evenings peace comes down
The older gold of Ashwick oaks now fades to colder brown
The blue haze creeps o’er the Dobson crest, beyond the waterfall
The west wind dies on Woodburn Spurs, and night is over all
The mystic night of still moonlight, when wild swans Westward fly
And rolling round the Razor Back, the sheep come drifting by
Come drifting by, when ghostly men, from older days of yore;
Are riding up the Kimbell Road, to herd their sheep once more.