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Born in 1931, on the outskirts of Nottingham, Peter Fooks has worn a variety of hats in his life: as Seaman, Grocer, trainee rosarian, Solicitors dogsbody, Civil Servant, Scout Leader and hill-walker to name but a few!
Having now retired, he is better able to indulge his life-long interest in writing. His greatest success so far has been in the compilation of a number of popular walking guides, but he has also produced some moderately successful poetry and fiction.
A happily married family man for over forty years, Peter has three grown up children and eight grandchildren.
Writer's Work - Larks rise at Eakring
"Above the fields a skylark heavenward soars,
as did the psalms the faithful people sang
so long ago, upon a lonely hill by Pulpit Ash, beyond the parish bounds."* * * "Whats your name, mister?" the boy asked.
"William," the man replied. "William Mompesson"
"You are the new vicar, arent you?"
"Thats right."
"Why are you sitting up here, mister?"
"Because I like it up here. The Ash trees in bloom; the gentle breeze; the skylarks."
"Why dont you come down to Eakring mister? To the church?"
"Oh, they dont want me down there, boy. Im much better off, much happier where I am. I dont need a church. I am used to preaching out of doors. I have had plenty of practice."
"Where do you come from, mister?"
"Oh, a long way from here. A place called Eyam."
"Youve got the plague havent you mister? Thats what they say."
"Thats what they say. But it isnt true. That is all in the past."
"I know. So why dont you come down and tell them?"
"Because they wouldnt believe me. I cannot blame them. After all, the plague killed most of my flock. It killed my wife. It should have killed me, but God, I suppose, had other ideas for me."
"Will you show me where you live, mister?"
"Oh, I dont think that would be a good idea. Its only a rough old hut in the woods. And you shouldnt come too close to me. You know what people will say."
"I dont care what people would say. And my dad wouldnt mind. He thinks like I do."
"I really dont think it would be a good idea." "But please! Let me come with you. Let me help you, run errands for you, carry messages. Let me be your disciple!" * * *
"And once again, as in the plague-bound days,
Mompesson preached the word beneath the heavens. And now, by Pulpit Ash, there stands his cross, and here the joyful lark His praises sings." |
