In Swindon’s valley, where the ‘pig hill’ lay,
Ephraim Hollidge was born one laborious day.
A name from the Hebrews, fruitful, productive and bold,
His journey begins here, his story ready to be told.

From humble beginnings, his star rose high,
Over two hundred miles away, he started to fly.
Towards Norwich he thought, a city of dreams,
Where industry flourished, and his hopes brightly gleamed.

By stagecoach, canal or on horseback, who knows?
He travelled along, to move from his woes.
From rural obscurity, he wanted far more,
To find in our city, what his life held in store.

You see Norwich back then was a place to be seen,
In eighteen hundred, life and business both teem.
Yet shadows were cast by progress so swift,
With dark narrow yards, many souls cast adrift.

In the year of our Lord, around eighteen twelve,
Ephraim took Elizabeth’s hand, all to himselve.
At Saint Peter Parmentergate, albeit young, they were wed,
In a world full of ills, they had made their bed.

Three daughters were born, and in King Street they resided,
Despite hardships and kerfs, their spirits mitred.
Though life’s cruel hand, twisted fate’s brittle thread,
With infant mortality, disease, many soon saw dead.

Ephraim worked tirelessly, in the pit’s thirsty glow
Spitting through dust, the work arduous and slow.
His burden weighing heavy on his lowly-paid trade,
Yet with grit and resilience, he never once swayed.

He provided for his load, as time moved hungrily along,
In the heart of the city, where he now belonged.
Three grandsons beside him, as years passed him by,
A rich marquetry of a life, let’s continue to pry.

In seventy-two, his beloved Elizabeth passed,
Leaving Ephraim to ponder the decisions he’d cast.
Admitted to rest, at the blind hospital’s door,
His journey from Swindon, his life, alas no more.

Life’s passage is carved in moments so small,
In the nooks of Dragon Hall, you can see them all.
For every life lived, both humble, modest or grand,
Is etched in wood there, maybe by Ephraim’s own hand.

So listen, dear reader, as you wander this place,
Hear the splinter of wood, seesaw marks leave trace.
For in every back and forth, in joy and in strife,
Lies the story of Ephraim Hollidge and a journey of life.

Story Makers is made possible by the National Lottery Heritage Fund.