I was delighted to see my letter in the Chronicle recently. I wrote about the possible demolition of The Feltham Hotel.
Being a local poet, I have had poems published: therefore I decided to send in one I have recently written about the decline of Bedfont.
THE BEDFONT MY FATHER KNEW
The Bedfont my father knew was carts drawn by horses pulling ice creams, coal or milk.
The Bedfont I know you go to a shop.
The Bedfont my father knew, was farms and fields where he played. I as a child played in the street, where not many cars came down.
The Bedfont my father knew, was full of kindly helpful people, who pulled together and helped each other. The Bedfont I know is becoming, a playground for violence and gangs, and reading about attacks in the paper.
The house where my father and mother live, my father remembers as a three-room shack, which is now a nice residential bungalow, situated in a nice fairly quiet street.
The Bedfont my father knew was in the country where flowers grew, and trees and plants and butterflies played. The Bedfont I know is mostly houses, and flats, shops and other buildings, that have sprung up over the years, though I can find fields to walk through, if I walk far enough, or drive a car.
The Bedfont I know is a far cry, from the idyllic Bedfont my father knew. The simple way of life that my father knew has gone forever, so all I can say is, if this is progress then I would rather live in the Bedfont that my father knew.
MS BEVERLY ZYWINA Warfield Road, Feltham.