George Elliott was a man,
1970s drinking.
A post adolescence club

 

The road from Aquae Sulis
Passes at the front
Leads to Portus Abonae
The legions on the hunt.

 

O. Cromwell once stayed there
Before a big battle,
On his way to Bristol
He then knocked down the castle.

 

George was an inventor.
Beer drawn by a foot pump
To a cylindrical contraption
An alcoholic sump

 

He brewed a devilish cider
Only sold in halves
Three of them would do for me.
Those days; oh how we laugh.

 

Seven hundred years of history
But now without much soul
If you ever go to Hanham
Just look at the Blue Bowl

 

Fergus Georgeson