Inspired by History
A collection of original poems inspired by
St Nicholas Priory
by pupils at Ivybridge Community College

Introduction
Ivybridge Community College brought a group of fifteen
Key Stage 3 students to St Nicholas Priory in 2005 and
2006.
They were allowed to explore the building freely.
They enjoyed the company of several historic buildings experts – people who have spent a lifetime researching and sharing their enthusiasm for various aspects of history, including for St Nicholas Priory. There were those who could read history into the stonework and artefacts, those who could explain Tudor table manners and how the kitchen worked and those who could show how they wore their clothes and designed their furniture.
The students created poetry based on their initial explorations of what was, at the time, an empty, cold building and then let their imaginations ran wild thinking about how it once was and how it might be…..
Their poems show how the simple opportunity to explore a historic building stimulates creativity and imagination in school students – and hopefully inspires them to visit more such places.
We hope your enjoy their work.
Kate Osborne
Access Officer, Royal Albert Memorial Museum
Acknowledgements
This poetry project would not have been possible without the enthusiasm and time freely given by the following people:


John Allan, Exeter Archaeology

Peter Brears

Victor and Janet Chinnery

Les Skipper of the History Re-enactment Workshop

Museum staff at the Royal Albert Memorial

Sophie Clayborough, History Teacher at Ivybridge
Community College and her colleagues and students at Key Stage 3
Hide and seek
As we begin our Hide and Seek
By the front door,
The game players venture
Into the house’s core.
By the Priory’s entrance
Sophie counts or mimes,
And then she too wonders
Into the Tudor times.
For the house holds a history,
We are willing to share,
Of love and happiness
Or hatred and despair.
As we venture into the house,
We are soon to discover,
All about the history
And maybe with mysteries to uncover.
Michaela
My discovery begins
As I enter through the door.
Just walking through it,
I want to explore more.
I pace along the first floor,
Trying to find a place to hide,
Though there are many places,
I am finding it hard to decide.

Then I stumble into the room,
Looking at the tallest ceiling,
The room is wide and bare,
Yet it still possesses an eerie feeling.
I walk under the beam,
Looking for a place to hide,
I see an old fireplace of ashes,
And place myself inside.
I could imagine servants,
Attempting to get the food done,
And people waiting in the grand hall,
To eat the food, to have fun.
I could imagine the servants,
Sweating under the fiery blaze,
Panicking about the food,
Peering through the smoky haze.
I adore my hiding place,
Though I feel rather sly,
I wonder if you can guess,
Where am I?
Amy
I venture through the Tudor house,
To find my place to hide,
I stumble up the stone stairs,
And look around as I stride.
Statues are around me,
And a stained glass window behind,
Associated with the Priory,
Associated with mankind.
I open a small door around a bend,

And I see a steeper staircase and stare,
I climb up and wonder,
What is up there?
I clamber up the spiral carefully,
And at the top I find another door
That swings open with an eerie moan,
But also reveals more.
The room is surrounded by stone,
Of grey, white and red,
Except for the wooden ceiling,
That contains aches instead.
The aged floorboards are also wooden,
Laid out along the floor,
Which creak with every step,
As I walk away from the closed door.
The room is warmer than others,
And does not seem as surreal,
The room is less eerie,
And has a comforting feel.
I could stare out every window,
It’s a place where I could daydream,
It’s the most beautiful room,
It’s awesome! It’s supreme!
I adore my hiding place,
Which is quite high,
I wonder if you can guess,
Where am I?
Nick
As I journey through the house,
I wonder where to begin,
But I find my destination,

And settle myself in.
I see the table,
As I look around the room,
Where Tudors used to eat,
In their strange costume.
The table legs are beautiful shapes,
The Tudor roses are carved,
Supporting the table legs,
So nobody starved!
Behind me is wall plaster,
It displays a strange scene,
Of cherubs playing trumpets,
Surrounded by leafy green.
Next to me is a leaded window,
A part containing glass so red,
And as I look out,
I can see where Tudors once tread.
I adore my hiding place,
Which is quite high,
I wonder if you can guess,
Where am I?
Sophie
I creep slowly towards the room,
Afraid of waking all the history,
I imagine back to Tudor times,
But this house remains a mystery.
The door steadily shuts behind me,
It does so with a creak,
I have counted to one hundred,
And so I begin to seek.

“Ready or not here I come!”
I stop, listening for a sound,
But nothing meets my ears,
I hear a noise and spin around.
A figure of my imagination,
Or as it appears,
The walls that surround me,
Have stood for hundreds of years.
My gaze glances upwards,
And my eyes are transfixed on the beams
The amazing architecture stuns me,
I snap out of my daydream.
Amy, Sophie and Michaela
A Tudor Sensation
It was 2006 and we were on a history trip to St Nicholas
Priory. It was a fantas tic place but I just couldn’t concentrate enough to study the brilliant and ancient artefacts. All of a sudden drowsiness overwhelmed me and before I knew it I was asleep, snoring deeply on the rough, tough stone of a random windowsill below arching, pan elled windows…
It was 1560 in a thick stone house,
The wind howled at the scurrying of a mouse,
The rich sat comfortably by the warm nice fire,
Telling stories of hope and desire,
A Tudor sensation.
Next it was 2006,
School students getting in a mix,

Room after room of clutter and junk,
But behind each artefact a story about a monk,
A Tudor sensation.
It was 2024,
Visitors trampling through the door,
History unfolded in front of their eyes,
For them it is a very nice surprise,
A Tudor sensation.
I stirred from my dreamy sleep when I heard the battering of feet pounding down the steep stone stairs. I could hear my teacher shouting from down below and it sounded like it was time to go home. I would miss this building for it felt like I had travelled through time. However, I knew that it was going to be turned into a wonderful museum so others can share my experiences and marvel at the beauty and history of this house. It really is “A Tudor Sensation
”.
Callum
The Tudor House
As we walked in for the very first time
We were breathless
– such a lovely place,
But the wind whistles through,
Sending a shiver up my spine.
Extremely large sooms held hundreds of memories.
So empty yet so full.
Lots of stones make the high walls,
Not perfect, all jagged and sharp,
All the effort to build the house,
It is all shown and felt.
So quiet in this place,
But sometimes there are sounds,
They echo through the house,
Bouncing off the empty walls.
A few hundred years ago,

People ran through without a worry,
So happy, it was their home,
But now it is a rubble,
Just about standing.
It is our mission,
If we choose to accept,
To renovate this home,
For a spectacular museum, for people to explore.
It will not be easy,
But we must succeed,
For the sake of you,
And the sake of history.
As you read this poem,
We have succeeded,
But cast your minds back,
Use your imaginations,
Think of the Tudors that lived here,
And what it looked like then,
What it looked like when we first ventured in.
Josh
Tudor House
Standing in a Tudor House
In the Tudor kitchen
The fires roaring, red and big
The smoke rising, thick and dark
The chefs shouting to cook the pig
All to get the meal ready
Standing in a Tudor House
On the Tudor stairs
Steep and sharp
Precarious and pointy

Red and rough
To walk up the Tudor Stairs
Standing in a Tudor House
Near the Tudor table
Laden with people dressed in finery
Empty of food, just the silver
For the food is soon to come
Hot and steamy with roasted pig
Standing in a Tudor House
Near a Tudor bed
Four posted and covered in fabric
Thick and heavy with a bright red pattern
On the Tudor bed
Under the Tudor Rose
Alex
The Tudor House
As I walk around the old musty rooms,
Full of cobwebs, damp and gloom.
It is cold spooky and not much light,
I would hate to sleep for the night.
I walk over the cobbled stones,
The old oak door creaks and groans.
I clamber up the stone spiral stairs,
Into the dining room with old tables and chairs.
A fire place sits by the wall,
Long after it’s been quiet after the family’s fall.
Into the bed room and on the wall,
An engraving that’s not very small.
It’s a Tudor rose above the bed,
But this room is now quiet and dead.

I go back down to the entrance room,
Through the window I see the moon.
There is a coffin and I stare,
I say to mys elf ‘Why is it there?’
Now this house is quiet and sad,
To lose its memories would be bad.
So we restore it as it was before,
And people can see it forever more.
Anon
St. Nicks priory poem
Passages cold,
Creeping up the stairs,
Still silence everywhere,
House lost in time,
To let it waste away,
For even just one day,
Coffins ghost and echoing rooms,
You can even hear the far away calls,
Of the people who have lived here before,
Of one thing I am sure,
If the walls could talk,
There would be so many stories to tell,
Of lives lived here through heaven and hell,
Big oak doors stand in my path,
Humourous clothes make me laugh,
Bare wall and window frames,
Dim light and kitchen stains,
Fireplace standing tall,
Black against the old stonewall,
Arched ceilings
That are really appealing,
With creative patterns
That have told you what has happened.
David and Toby

St Nicholas Priory Old and New
A thick layer of dust on the bedroom floor,
You’d never believe someone had lived here before,
The jagged old fireplace,
The broken brick wall,
Rotted away
Like the long gone great hall.
The steep, steep staircases
Eroded away
This windy old building
Near the end of its days
The battered beams
Ripping at the seams
The long dead cobwebs
No longer alone
The army of bugs
Have overtaken the home.
Back in time
In the old days
When the Hurst family
Got their own way.
Young little Nick
Ran through the manor
Not taking his time
Not appreciating the banners.
The family now gone
The house now owned by no one
The layer of dust gets thicker and thicker
The ancient floor boards.

The unnatural light shines on the stone
The anonymous coffin
Not collecting ancient bones.
The grand kitchen
Out like a light
The great scale of this room
An amazing sight.
The echoing voices
Fly through the house
The curse that is time
Has drowned them out.
The great St Nicholas
Stands like a lord himself
This great statue
Shows off their wealth
With children at his feet
And the bible in his hand
This rock figure alone makes this long dead building grand.
Nick
A hollowed maze of empty rooms,
A layer of dust and grime,
But under all the dirt is,
A window back in time.
The old stone walls and timber beams
Still stand from long ago,
Paint and plaster flake away
But some details still show.
A ghost of how it used to be

When people filled each room
A place of wealth and splendour
Before it met its doom.
When every last person had left
The priory starts to fade
Without any activity
The impact people made.
Until the building is patched up
Repaired and good as new
To show how it used to be
But how it has changed too.
Anon