Albert was a villager who contributed to the free newspaper – Village Life – that was published regularly.  He wrote under the pseudonym of Marshal Bronte.  He moved out of the village to Sheffield and his niece has a collection of his work.  Some samples of his work are below and we will gradually add to them.  There’s one about the market, with all of things that longer-in-the-tooth villagers will remember were there on Tuesdays and/or Fridays.  We hope to add a photo soon, and more about his life

Times Change

The day war came I was just six years old, going on seven

And I firmly believed that there was a God in Heaven

Rossington was only small then, but just about every kid went to church

And if you were naughty or did something very wrong, you got the cane or the birch

Children were taught manners and to know right from wrong

Teachers were disciplinarians and in that department they were very strong

Parents too, kept you on the straight and narrow

Obedience was a word you followed to the marrow

The people or Rossington were so kind and caring

The community spirit was always one of sharing

Through the long dark days of war, everyone was your friend

And together you hoped and prayed for the war to end

Most of your fathers worked down the coalmine

Whilst our big brothers were away fighting on the front line

Some of our mothers worked on a munitions factory, others on the land

Everyone was doing their bit with a big helping hand

Food and everything else was on ration

And the clothes you wore never went out of fashion

Bombs fell locally but we had a lot to be thankful for

But places quite near, like Sheffield, suffered the horrors of war

Rossington provided a home for evacuees and the Bevin Boys

And the Hippodrome provided us kids on a Saturday morning, the cowboys

The main entertainment was got by listening to the wireless

Defending Rossington was done by the Home Guard and ARP Wardens who worked away tireless

The St John Ambulance, the Home Nursing and WVS at the ready

The community spirit of Rossington remained at all times steady

During the hours of blackout you were quite safe to go out

In them days you didn’t get confronted by some savage lout

And you were quite safe to leave your door off the lock

And all the nice pretty girls always wore a frock

Not like today when all girls and boys look very much alike

And you always saw your village bobby every day on his bike

But alas, times change and this is now 1995

People have changed, today they lack the initiative to contrive

So let’s hope the effort of the Rossington Community Festival prove to be a guide

As so much needs to be done to keep today’s kids fully occupied

And the community spirit needs to be fully 100 per cent

Then, and only then, will the time, effort and money, will be deemed well spent.



 I bought a shirt on Rossington market

Because there’s no need to order by mail,

But I’d like to meet the one who did mark it

Because I’ve got Joyce on my tail.


It’s not army or navy, I think it must be RAF.

It’s thick and warm and it’s not be worn

But to have Joyce on my tail, it’s got to be a laugh.

I’ve washed and ironed it: I’ll wear it tomorrow morn.


On Rossington market, there’s such fascinating things.

There’s carpets, potatoes and fancy reels of cotton

And in the olden days, was visited by queens and kings.

No royal coaches today, though, only a common old bike with Dot on.


There’s cabbages, pickles, pictures and frames,

Cards, toys, sweets and all things to wear

And you know nearly everyone by their names

Because they’re there, week in, week out, year after year.


People come from miles away to buy coloured toilet rolls,

Books, cheese and eggs, and pots and pans

Shoes, materials and stuff to mend holes

Then tea and bacon and tomato butties in one of the caravans.


So take some time off and have a look on every stall.

They’re there in all weathers, rain snow and hail.

You’ll gaze in wonder and be mesmerised by it all

Like I was with my shirt, and Joyce on my tail.




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