Some seventy long years ago,

When Rushden was a village small

A patch of cottages around

St. Mary's Church and Rushden Hall

Duck Street had then, we understand

A soothing ‘truly rural^’ air

Which local notabilities

Were always more than pleased to share.

Half-timbered thatch-roofed cottages

Beneath a row of swaying trees

Each garden full of rainbow blooms

Cast sweet perfumes upon the breeze

A babbling stream went rippling by

Beside the weather-beaten track

Where daily graceful ducks (and drakes)

Disported with harmonious quack.

But now in 1945

That pleasant scene is bleak and dank

The wind conveys effluvias

From out the static water tank;

Decrepit roofs of mellowed tile

Contrast with gas-tarred roofs of zinc

Whilst crackling plaster on the walls

Destroys the last bright old-world link.

But time works wonders, as we know

So readers, wipe away your tears

And let us take a peep ahead

And bridge the gap of fifty years

To days when we are turned to clay

When stretching from the South to North

A straight wide, modern thoroughfare

Re-christened Duke Street blossoms forth.

Picture five-storey block of flats

Bazaars and shops and massive stores

A splendid British Restaurant

That through the day keeps open doors

So, if you've got some idle dough

Just fetch it out, don't hesitate

There's money to be made (some day)

Developing Duck Street Estate.