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.