Written by Alice Proctor of Failsworth

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Daisy Nook is a dear old place,
Well Known to quite a lot,
Because of its charms and grace,
Its a quaint old country spot,
The rippling brook which runs right through,
Just cools the peaceful air,
When one looks round there is a view,
That nature made so rare,
'Tis said, one day, we don't know when,
Ben Brierley made his way,
The hills were white with daisies then,
'Twas a real midsummer's day,
And as he gazed with smiling face,
Thought he, well this is grand,
This hamlet is a lovely place,
None prettier in the land,
Its name was Waterhouses' then,
But Ben took another look,
Said he, 'I'll name this place again,
and call it Daisy Nook',
The ancient cottages standing by,
Complete the countryside,
Tho' very humble, you couldn't buy-
The tenants cling with pride,
The landlord is a fine old chap,
'Jim Winterbottom' if you please,
To him no place upon the map,
Has houses such as these,
But now we've reach a modern age,
And nothing is the same,
New property is all the rage,
Old buildings have no claim,
And so these homes have to go;
The folks say it's a mystery,
The homes we've loved and cherished so,
Must just go down in history,
But looking on the brighter side,
For sure one never knows,
Someday they might look down with pride,
And gaze on bungalows,
So why not face the years ahead,
With thoughts of days well spent,
For life and home, when all is said,
To use are only lent.