Wayland Van Hildyck-Smith, of Forde Park, Newton Abbot, writes:

Re the wonderful poem by Derek Millinchip, but may I add to it as he left several things of importance out!

To ape your rhyme’s not my intention, but there were things you didn’t mention,

And oft a thought that’s sharp and terse, brings home the message best, in verse!

The glassing in of Market Way is fine, but on a windy day,

clutching parcels, no free hand to hold your skirts down, oh the snickers, when ladies’ skirts reveal their knickers!

Scorching pavement in the heat, no good for tired and aching feet!

And if the market’s gone away, the throngs of farmers’ wives who say,

‘Our ONE day out to come to town, to shop and gossip, now shut down.’

Now RUMOURS prove believe you me, just early thoughts of WHAT WILL BE,

This new hotel they seem to think, at Hero’s Bridge, on Lemon’s brink,

Perched o’er five roads traffic lights, will surely give you tranquil nights!

But whisper is, quiet as a mouse, they don’t own this, it’s Sherborne House.

And if the owners will not sell, another scheme will go to hell!

The multi-storey’s good you know, so tell me where the cars will go.

If down it comes for dwellings more and all of these have cars galore?

And tell us do, no hesitation, where will go a new bus station?

The parks once quiet and welcome ground, no longer safe for there is found.

Drugs and dossers, gangs of yobs, vandals, flashers, evil mobs.

No police are seen to move them on, arrest or ere be called upon.

Police station shut, but cars still seen, whizzing past the verdant green.

Foot patrols, oh mercy me, this is something you’ll not see.

Once proud, a bustling market town, but now, a place of no renown.

Just one you go through on your way, from A to B or so they say,

Torquay and Exeter’s where they go, where everything you want is, so.

All this is lost, for simple greed and lack of vision, so we see, poor Newton Abbot, RIP.