Ode to Elizebath Strickson

As our reader probably knows, we of the Learned Society are as interested in the people of long ago as we are in the places they inhabited. A grave for example like the one below (An unusually old and well preserved one from a graveyard on the Lincolnshire/Cambridgeshire boarder) sets us to pondering upon Grave Matters and to wondering about the person interred there. What were they like - Were they like us? For it is a widely held belief in the R.S.A.R that people long ago were not that different to the people of today. They laughed, cried and were angered at much the same things we are today. They had many of the hang ups and idiosyncrasies that you will find in any Ragged Rambler worth their salt. And to that end I have contrived this poem about both Elizebath and the anonymous Rambler pictured pondering upon her....

Elizebath Strickson gone to the grave
Far too long now for us to save
300 years all bar one,
since poor Elizebath last saw the sun
Was she foul or was she fair
or did she too have dodgy hair?
300 years all bar one
since poor Elizabeth last did run
Or did she too have a double jointed knee,
A leg stuck out wildly at a 45 degree?
Elizebath Strickson dep[a]rted this life
but devoted daughter or loving wife?
Elizebath Strickson Lyeath deep
In her coffin - her secrets to keep!


+Many Coats+ R.S.A.R