Originally a Cistercian abbey, it was partly demolished in the 16th century after the dissolution of the monasteries, and converted to a minor country house estate. Mr Smith talked about the succession of owners beginning in the 16th century with George Talbot, 4th Earl of Shrewsbury, until the 20th century when the property passed to Sir George, the 3rd Baron Savile, who was only 12 years old, at which time the trustees took the decision to sell the estate. After changing hands several times, and being used for military purposes during the 2nd world war, it was purchased by the Notts. County Council and has now become a park open to the public, owned by Nottinghamshire County Council and managed by Parkwood Outdoors in co-operation with English Heritage.
Memories of Rufford by Frank Eyre
Just a Swan
Silent goddess of lake and shore
Muted now in deaths cold hand
Once white dancer of the waves
No more to glide through water deep
-*-
Lumbering flyer of wandering wedges
No bird of prey could match your pace
Once stood proud on waters broad
Snow no challenge to your glow
-*-
Empty rivers, empty streams
No haunting calls or beating wings
This deadly essence of potent waste
Lays low the enchanting godly grace
-*-
Rise now as if in courting ploy
Dance on, join others gone before
Lost to the greed of opportunity
Not to be seen or loved no more
by Frank Eyre
Straw Burning
What extra cost the corn today Bramble patch where he played as a lad
None that I’m aware of in any way All gone now sad, sad, how sad
Fifty four birds a thousand bees What, the barn nearly went, the house too
Moles, mice and such as these Good God that would never do
Count not on the tally as he speaks
-*- -*-
The stately old oak along the way Gusting wind, soaring heat, scoring pain
It only gave shade anyway No time to cry
Three hundred paces hawthorn It’s said the eyes may never see again
The low knotted yew It matters not
Sheltered stock as the North wind blew No loss is sight to one so blind
by Frank Eyre
BUTTERCUP MEADOW
The hands of man have touched this scene
This old meadow mixed brown, gold, patchy green
Passing this way once pure joy
Catching the eye was their ploy
Fresh to the mind on every hand
Now swept away as planned
Gone those buttercups once spreading here
Gone now those waves of floating gold
No more for wandering eyes to hold
Lost to turning page of time
Gone from sight
But not from mind
Rufford 1984 by Frank Eyre