A POEM celebrating some of the old characters from Tudor Street that was secreted away in the pages of an old book at Abergavenny Library has recently resurfaced.

In 1957, civic planners gave the green light to wholesale slum clearances, which systematically destroyed much of the old part of Abergavenny and changed it beyond recognition. Nowhere was this more evident than in what used to be the most notorious part of Abergavenny - Tudor Street.

In a gung-ho fashion, many fine Elizabethan buildings, and more importantly, people’s homes, were bulldozed to make way for the sharp-edged utilitarianism and banal box designs of modernity.

The historic dwellings and public houses in Tudor Street and St John’s Square were replaced with a Police Station, a Magistrates' Court, a Job Centre, and a Post Office.

Suffice to say, the unique character of the area had been somewhat diminished, and the community had been broken, scattered, and moved on to purpose-built council homes elsewhere.

Although the buildings may be no more, the memories remain, and some of the most poignant ones have been captured in verse by a poet named J.C. Marlog.

The poem was brought to the Chronicle’s attention by George Beale, who explained, “Someone, I know not who, brought a pile of books into the library and this poem about Tudor Street was amongst them. I thought the Chronicle might like to publish it in case it jogged any readers’ memories?”

You thought right George! Here, in its entirety, is the poem simply entitled ’Tudor Street.’

“Go around the museum, and what do you see,

Pictures of Tudor Street as it used to be.

Strangers might ask why all the fuss,

But they didn’t know Tudor Street, not like us,

There was Annie Llewellyn with a dog called Spot,

With a room always vacant for five bob on the dot.

There was Phillamina Cringy, who had a brother named Queeter,

Their father sold ice cream, you couldn’t buy any sweeter.

Their was old Mr Holland who kept a small shop,

Unlike today’s businesses, it didn’t go flop.

A midwife called Mrs Watkins who would give you a shout,

An undertaker called Graham who would carry you out,

Old Jinney Jones who sold second-hand clobber,

She was short-sighted, but you try to rob her,

There was Burrows, Breakwell, Lynch, Mrs Hodgins and Madden too,

I don’t recall all the names, but these are just a few,

I remember the men of Tudor Street playing cards with a tanner a piece,

They found a spot down Byfield Lane,

While the women, they all had one thing in common,

Their doorsteps were scrubbed with pride,

They didn’t have much, but what they had they didn’t have to hide

All the kids who lived in the street were such a happy bunch

But let anyone offend them, they couldn’t half swing a punch,

Yes these kids grew up in Tudor Street and there’s one with us today,

He’ well known to everyone so to Bryn I’d like to say,

Thank you for the hours of pleasure you singing gives to me,

And I salute the people of Tudor Street for making it the way it used to be.”