First were the Britons’ iron-clad chariot wheel-rims rattling as they raced along.
Then arrived slick-skinned hard-nailed southern sandals
in haste to decimate the rebel clans.
Soft-soled boots of Baltic seal-skin followed, peaceful in their homestead aims.
All disturbed by the pony-mounted army, Viking swords in hand.
But peace returned—if briefly—on the grant to one of land.
Now feet did mingle, native, immigrant, subject to the Zeelandic king.
Until … battle-hardened foreign knights on heavy-footed steeds rode in.
Next descended the Black Leveller, clad in Death’s bubonic boils;
opened wool-runs to yeomen farmers, encouraged weavers from the Kemp-lands.
I could go on …
But how, you ask, came this Wash Lane to be so name?
From the gush of clear filtered field-waters after heavy rain.
Written for Crimson’s Creative Challenge
This is the true history, and reason for its name.