Last February, when the heavy rains came, Water Lane was flooded. Again.

Here’s a poem written 70 years ago by a Watford Observer reader named only as “V.P.”. You’d think someone would have got to grips with the problem after seven decades. It’s called: What a Lane!

Oh, Water Lane, its mud and rain,
Are here to try us once again.
Long months ago, I let ink flow,
To let our Corporation know,
The sad condition of this road,
Which daily suffers quite a load
Of urgent people dashing by
Whose feet, alas, are seldom dry.

But Water Lane is still the same
And more than lives up to its name.
For weeks I’ve seen, beneath the arch
(Through which foot sloggers have to march)
A puddle growing like a pond;
For weeks I’ve seen, away beyond,
A giant puddle by the hill,
Which passing motors splash and spill,
Upon our precious shoes and hose
Thus causing “Washerwoman’s Toes”.

Of course the lane would be quite nice,
A sort of swimmers’ paradise,
Were I a mermaid or a fish
But as I’m neither, then I wish
The lane was dry, though wet in name.
I know full well I cannot blame
Our Corporation for the rain,
Which often irrigates the lane;
But what about the drains and holes?
Could not the idle drawing doles
Clean out the drains and level up,
And make our lane less like a cup
Too full, or overflowing sink?
More like a bypass or a link?

[From the Watford Observer of December 29, 1944]

Watford Observer:

Water Lane in February 2014 – 70 years after the poem here complaining about the flooding was first published.