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No wooden angel weeps on Faringdon town, where in the Millennium year the lighthouse beacon swept around. Proud residents viewed the beam pass on their homes, as those already bathed in the light knew only Faringdon in all Britain, could be seen from aeroplanes at night. But also view under the hill, where the Folly tower stands, the poppies, those red heads, a tribute to the brave who died since history began, or when the Romans came .There too Oliver Cromwell launched his cannonade to the eternal drumbeat, his shots struck the spire from the church of elegant chimes, destroying walls, houses, with the searing heat of iron cannon balls. Check the Market Place, see the pub of Tom Brown fame, of course, Portwell too but watch on Boxing Day the local Mummers play, to save the town from the evil of the Dragon breed, whimsy the natives with their good deed.

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The following comments are for "Our Town"
by Cleveland W. Gibson

Reminded me of the play OUR TOWN. The daily lives of simple people in a small farm town and the movement of time, life and death. Who married, who died, who born, etc. Very quaint and telling.

( Posted by: poewhit [Member] On: March 17, 2008 )

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