In Queen Victoria's golden reign

a local merchant, proud and vain,

committing finance to the hilt

commanded a new house be built.

Sturdy, strong and rugged stone,

on ample land it stood alone.

To crown this glory on the hill,

he bounded it with walls until,

at front of house, dull stone was out,

cast railings stood, tall firm and stout.

Spiked tips and ornate feathered shapes

were looked on proudly through the drapes.

behind the shining, guardian rail

the merchant and his kin were hale.

In sweet content, they leant upon

their railings while the town looked on.

At chapel, dressed in shawl and cloak,

they looked down on the other folk.

The rails and sturdy iron gate

made their well fed chests inflate.

Full of pride, and wanting more,

the merchant built an outside store.

With matching slate he crowned it off,

the new maid said he was a toff.

As time went by, the merchant died,

and his heirs came to reside.

House and gardens, railings too

weathered on, still strong and true.

Until third generation on,

and off to war, the men were gone.

In filthy, rat infested trench,

the owner died on soil French.

The hero's kin left home behind.

No longer kept the house refined.

In penury, they couldn't cope.

They left the house and lost all hope.

It vacant stood, with broken glass.

So sad to view by those who pass.

Though cloaked with weed and rusted red,

the railings stood, still firm embed.

Some years went by 'til it was bought.

The castle home, a broker sought.

Cleaned and painted, put to right,

offset by railings, burnished bright.

Furnished to the highest class,

gilded mirrors, polished brass.

The house was buoyed by soaring stocks,

the nWall Street shares hit the rocks.

Our broker lost all that he had

and once again the house was sad.

As bailiffs emptied all that moved,

all now was gone, that had improved.

Blind windows stared onto the street.

The garden wild, where once was neat.

When Europe gathered clouds of war,

our home was occupied once more.

The new man knew the worth of land.

He gathered houses to his hand.

This one was for him to live.

The other, to him, income give.

This landlord looked down on his fief

through railings tipped with golden leaf.

But then the weight of Hitler's horde

demanded iron to beat to sword.

Strong railings were all cut away,

for weapon keeping Hun at bay.

For seven decades, they had stood,

to keep the house secure and good.

Now frontage bared, as ne'er before,

the landlord and his house were sore.

When Nazi threat was crushed and done,

work on new ones was begun.

No cost was spared, when they were cast.

Firm in the stone they set them fast.

Proud as before, and just as strong,

new railings warned who would do wrong.

The rails sttled to their job

alongside scars that war did rob.

Austere and rationed times were gone.

Then bread and circuses came on.

Followed hard by powered flowers,

ignoring all tradition's glowers.

As century of life drew close

to reptiles, our house came host.

The owner's son, in these bold times,

had pets bought in from tropic climes.

One night, a mighty python went

from cellar home through rusty vent.

It slid across the verdant lawn,

then twined through shining rail at dawn.

The town was gripped by fear all day,

but snaky slithered clean away.

Soon son gre up and dad grew old.

The house got scruffy, green with mould.

Once neat garden choked with thorn.

Surrounded house, black, grim and worn.

Strong still among the tangled weed,

those railings fought to do their deed.

Assault came in the form of kids.

Small, naughty boys made entry bids.

They clambered on unguarded walls

and laughing, sufferedmany falls.

Affronted by the rails so stout,

they gave their tops a mighty clout.

Dad's borrowed hammer strikes them hard.

Three ornate points fall in the yard.

Quickly grabbed by tendrils tough,

they disappear in tangled rough.

Mid all the damage and decay,

our railings still hold world at bay.

New buyers come to take a look,

but doubt they want to do such work.

As they go to walk away,

their eye is caught the railing's way.

They pull some ivy back in awe.

These soon could as once before.

Fervently, they stripped it out.

Scraped and cleaned and set about.

black stone was blasted back to gold.

New everything where once was old.

When house was done they looked outside,

and looked upon the rail with pride.

Stripping rampant brambles back,

they painted railings shining black.

Among the weed and sawn down tree,

the broken pieces rattled free.

Happily, they seized this prize.

Rejoicing they had been so wise

to have a house that's grand and smart,

complete in each and every part.

Gluing points back into place,

the house retrieved its early grace.

Time to earn their just reward,

the owners got a sale board.

Before the building could be sold

the feeble glue relinquished hold.

Clutching brochure tight in hand,

we came along to view this land.

This house was all that we could need.

An offer made, we did the deed.

Soon we moved in, the place was great.

We leant upon our garden gate.

Admiring all that we had bought,

our eyes immediately were caught

by broken railings at the front.

This fault was far too prominent.

Searching in the garden store,

we found the pieces on the floor.

A welding job was done at once.

The rail regained its eminence.

Full century and a quarter now

since railing first stood at the brow

of our fine house, our ancient pile,

with gilded rail in sentry file.