After the War new suburbs rose br And builders did a roaring trade br But as with every new advance br There is a price that must be paid. br br Between the new neat bungalows br Lived Joey Brown, an ageing gypsy br Who walked about in tattered clothes br And kept a string of shaggy ponies, br A dozen chickens, goats and dogs, br His yard a meeting place for cronies br And children from the neighbourhood br Who gathered there to have a ride br On Joey’s cart if they were good. br br But his new neighbours found it hard br To live next door to Joey’s yard, br Petitioned the Council to close it down, br A disgrace, they said, to Beverley town, br Remove the gypsy, dogs and all. br The Council resolved to build a wall br To hide old Joey from the public eye. br This wall when built was nine feet high, br A monument to the middle class’s br Desire to shun the unwashed masses. br br This all took place in Pighill Lane, br A name uncouth and far too plain br So now it’s known as Woodhall Way br And quite unspoiled we’re glad to say.