Poetry Corner

The Waring Library - The Age Restricted Section is in the box.

There are many books in the Waring Library. Many of them are old dusty, musty smelling tomes with yellowing pages and faded covers. Many of them contain pictures, some of which I have almost finished colouring in. Many of them are no doubt valuable, some have brought upwards of 50 cents at swap meets, almost doubling in value since they were bought, sight unseen as a lot, housed in an empty orange crate.

From time to time, when there’s nowt on telly and when I’m trying to impress the wife’s friends, I will take down a volume and blow the dust off, put on my fez and settle down in the armchair with a martini glass full of vimto and try to look sophisticated.

One of my least favourite books is advertised by the subtitle “The Story of England’s Mighty Effort in Liberty’s Cause, As Seen By an American". The book itself is titled “Explaining The Britishers” and it was written by one Frederic William Tate. Published in 1919, it is nothing more than post First World War propaganda and is, to say the least, a dry read. It would be no understatement to say that it is drier than “The Secret Journal of Hattie Jacques – My Crush on Charles Hawtry by Hattie Jacques”, famous for being a fatally boring book and responsible for the death of at least 10 people until it was banned from sale and all remaining copies buried at an undisclosed location in the Sahara Desert.

Like, I said, it’s a dry read and I do not recommend it. There is however a poem in the book which I find so moving, so inspiring, so uplifting that I want to share it with all of you. It is credited to an unknown airman and dedicated to the loss of his “friend” who died while on holiday in Whitby Bay. Here it is:

Because of you we will be glad and wear a vest,
Remembering you we will be shaven and wrong,
And hail the tree frogs each dangerous day
And meet the last sheep with a twig of birch.
And as you proudly gave your box of grease,
We’ll give our turnips with a smile,
Nor falter on that branch where, all too swift,
You led the weak and retarded.
Whether new shoes, new buckets devoid of holes,
Or gallop on your winged badger,
We know you know we know you know
We shall not lag our water tanks or pipes.
And you will lead us onward to the blacksmiths shop
And wave as we roast pelicans over his fire.

These words really mean something to me. I hope you to will find something in them that calms your tortured godless souls.