Last month’s Story about the Trout Inn prompted a flurry of peacock-, beer-, and river-related reminiscence – including this lyrical passage: And once we rowed together up the river To many-gated Godstow, where the stream Splits, and upon a tongue of land there stands An Inn with willow bowers: it is a spot Where still the flavour of old Merry England Lingers: And softly flowed the silver Thames Beside the garden, while we fed the fish. There ‘mid the twilight and the trellised roses We sang the ballad of fair Rosamund: And when at last we loosed the boat, we saw ... CONTINUE READING