SELECTED POEMS
Lines on the Blue Bird Café
(Real event Christmas 1939)
Souls of soldiers dead and gone,
What Elysium have you known,
Happy hut or noisy Naffy
Choicer than the Blue Bird Café?
Have you tasted teas more fine
With the Blue Bird’s cakes divine?
Surely these cakes, with bread and butter
Are ideal for a mid-night flutter?
The Chef sign pleases all who come:
Could it guard beer barrel with a gun?
This prank all troopers thought great fun,
The Sergeant Major loans his gun!
I have heard that Christmas day
The Chef sign-board was stole away,
Nobody knew whither, till
An honest trooper’s ancient quill
To the Blue Bird wrote the story,
Said he saw it in its glory
Underneath a searchlight sign
Sipping beverage divine,
And pledging with contented smack
Real Chefs keeping cooks on track.
Souls of soldiers dead and gone
What Elysium have you known
Happy hut or noisy Naffy
Choicer than the Blue Bird Café?
With apologies to John Keats and his poem
‘Lines on the Mermaid Tavern’
LA PROVENCE
Ah, sun-blest land, by Roman legions trod
Garlanded by flowers and daily swarmed by bees!
Perfumed as a lovely bride, who on her knees
Swears vows of deep, eternal love before God.
This land knew war, and Marius’ iron rod,
The clash of armour over marshy leas
While crickets courted, their brief mates to please
Where toothless, black-dressed widows gently nod.
For still his triumphal arch bestrides the route
At Orange, where the ancient theatre fills
On summer evenings to Tragedy’s sad bruit
Or echoes long to Comedy’s short trills.
Provence! The province, shimmering in soft light;
With artists, poets and sweet scented night.
LITMUS TEST FOR LOVE
Oh, do you know a litmus test for love;
A smiling face, an ever-open hand,
Two gentle tongues, hearts fitted like a glove,
Or just a brief embrace upon some sand?
No, love flies high and low on angels’ wings
And will not land for sample, test or trial.
Love is not bound by law or wordly things,
A precious liquid held in a golden vial.
Love spins a thread from cradle to the tomb
So thin – it floats like gossamer at dawn,
So strong – it holds against the gates of doom,
So soft – it drifts like snow on coat of fawn.
Love’s rainbow spectrum gives itself away,
And shines through storms and rain till Judgement Day.
HOW DO I LOVE YOU?
How do I love you? Let me count the ways.
I made the worlds from nothing, started time;
Sent comets, set the sun to mark the days;
Made nature’s laws, put all things in their prime;
Created men and women for my praise;
Gave them the Earth and threw a saving line,
The law, the prophets, making clear my ways.
But you knew best. You spurned my love divine.
And so I stripped myself from heaven’s power,
Was born a baby; on my mother’s breast
Grew great in wisdom. Then declared God’s hour.
From mercy, love and peace I took no rest.
So now I hang in shame upon this tree.
How do I love you? Lift your eyes, and see!
PUT THE CLOCK BACK
Put the clock back, and live the years again.
Put the clock back, and do not heed the pain.
Time’s but a stream, created by God’s Word,
When waves and human laughter first were heard.
Remember then our meetings at the school,
Long evenings under operatic rule.
You sang and danced, you charmed my heart.
We cycled home together – what a start!
We courted by my Austin and by bike,
Sailed Windermere and climbed the Langdale Pike.
Gained all assents to make you “Mrs Mabey”.
Gave you the ring, then on to “My Fair Lady”.
We waited a full year, then nuptials tied
I brought you back to Bromham as my bride.
We made our home, and when our daughters came,
Their nurture made the clock speed on again.
Put the clock back, and see our daughters grow,
First crawling, then staggering – ever slow.
First words “Mummy”, “lorry”, “elicopter”
First tantrums; broken sleep; visits to the doctor.
First days at school, in uniform so clean.
First problems with the homework, often seen.
Examinations coming through the years.
Success or failure, smiles or rushing tears.
First boyfriends and the traumas that they caused,
Watching late, and laying down of laws!
Two weddings, in which hopes and joys we share;
Brides dresses, church flowers, all your care.
Put the clock back, and live the years again.
Put the clock back, and do not heed the pain.
Time’s but a stream created by God’s word;
We swam together with it, and were heard.
ELEGY FOR TIDDLES (1963 – 1980)
Tiddles is buried in Fairford Churchyard, England.
The church is famed for its medieval glass now
being restored at great expense.
When Tiddles (late of Fairford) died
The children of the parish cried,
The mice proclaimed a joyful feast;
To them he was a savage beast!
The PCC in conclave met,
For they considered him a pet.
“To show our love and deep regard,
Let’s bury him within the yard.”
The vicar, and the Reader, too,
Thought this suggestion would not do.
“Alas, poor Tiddles was unbaptised.
Thus his remains are circumscribed.”
The Bishop and the Registrar
Debated sagely from afar.
“Poor Tiddles was baptised by fire,
By many years’ service in the quire.”
The vicar, and the Reader, too,
Preferred the Rite of “sixty-two”.
They chose a fair and open spot
Where many a harvest mouse was got.
When Tiddles then to rest was laid,
The children of the parish played.
The ringers rang a quarter peal,
The mice enjoyed a peaceful meal.
BAPTISMAL HYMN
In each age works the hand of God,
In mercy and in power.
He breaks the tyrant’s iron rod,
He brings redemption’s hour.
In darkness shines the Word of life,
His cross and empty tomb
Bring joy and hope amid the strife.
His Light dispels all gloom.
In the church thrives the spirit of God,
A flame that lights on all.
A guide along the path Christ trod;
A wind of change – and call.
In each age is God’s Glory told,
Mountains quake at His thunders.
Nations shall flow to His City of gold,
Creation speaks of His wonders.
A CHINESE CHILD
“A Chinese boy is a piece of jade”
To be polished and adored.
The jewel of his fond parents made,
To become some lady’s lord.
“A Chinese girl is a piece of tile”,
A symbol of broken hopes.
Soft spoken, shy, with winning smile,
Allowed to live, she copes.
A Chinese child is a gift of God,
Whether male or female born.
Treading the earth the Christ child trod,
Who from Mary’s womb brought the dawn.
HOMEWARD BOUND FROM CHINA
Myriad stars now light my way,
As I fly through the night to the west,
Leaving the lands of far Cathay,
Where I was an honoured guest.
Our vapour trail spins a silk road,
Through the numinous, star-lit sky,
Bearing a heavy human load,
In the twinkling of an eye.
Hauling thoughts of a billion souls,
Who toil in those distant lands,
Aiming for many different goals
Numberless as desert sands.
BOOM AT BLACK ROCK
A tribute to the Thrust SSC team led by Richard Noble,
Ron Ayres and Andy Green.
Intrepid man; to whom a towering peak,
A gulph of oceans or light years of space
A challenge and restless torment speak
Which beckon forward to an endless race.
You heard the boom from Yeager’s rocket ship
As the sound barrier fell from cloudless skies.
You wandered on, and with light-hearted quip
Thought “Fastest on earth!” But was it safe or wise?
This fearful thought three daring hearts ensnared.
So destiny drove upon a slender shape
Which pared the air and sudden death dared
To blast a boom which made all Black Rock quake.
Jet engines cut, their thunderous roaring dies.
A broken record in the desert quietly lies.
HOMEWARD BOUND FROM AMERICA
The sun sets in the west as we fly east,
And cross the coastline of a land at peace.
Before us looms a haze and then the dark,
Three thousand miles of ocean before our barque.
Behind us lie Virginia and my friends
A week where work and pleasure gently blends,
Before us lie Old England and my home,
A welcome, tea, a Queen upon her throne.
Before us lie the dawn and then the sun,
A portent that our homeward trek is done.
Before us lie routine and daily grind,
Flight’s magic carefully stored within the mind.
EPILOGUE
I hope readers have enjoyed this autobiography. I acknowledge the love and
support of my wife Gill by the poem
SEASIDE THOUGHTS
I think of you when sun shines on the sea;
Each sparkling wave a fragment of your smile,
Each breath of wind a word of love for me
Which travels swiftly o’er the weary mile.
You felt the same for me for many years
As we grew ever closer day by day.
We shar’d our laughter and our transient tears;
We tried to walk Christ’s straight and narrow way.
But then old age and illness came our way;
The cup that most must drink in every age.
We may not argue for another day
Or claim an even higher final wage.
Our hope; to rest in Light then rise again
To life eternal and the death of pain.
The first line was attributed by the Times to Göethe but I have been unable to
trace it.
I thank my family, two children and four grandchildren for the joy they have
brought me over many years. These thanks are expressed by the poem
OLIVER’S BIRTHDAY PARTY (2003)
High summer comes, with laughing children lined
In fancy dress for birthday fun.
An ancient clown runs games all dads declined;
King Oliver is six, with shyness done.
Christopher is twelve. He leads, as “Bonkers” cast;
He knows his playful title will not last.
Henrietta, laughing, chases a free balloon
Across the field towards a group of boys.
She’s not yet three and must be rescued soon,
A task St Michael very much enjoys.
When Michael catches her she sheds some tears,
But comes home quickly – though she has no fears.
A day to cherish and recall with joy
Through autumn rains and winter’s icy cold
By every parent and thoughtful girl and boy;
But even more by granddads growing old!
The crown of age by God’s grace truly here;
To see our children’s children with no tear.
I hope my enthusiasm for unsteady Aerodynamics, my minor role as a reader in the
Diocese of St Albans and my poetry will be of interest. I wrote TWILIGHT ON
CASTLE MOUND, BEDFORD shortly after arriving in Bedford in 1954.
TWILIGHT ON CASTLE MOUND, BEDFORD
So quiet here, with level turf around,
The rustling wind, the fountain’s gentle sound.
Here stood the castle keep, alone and grand,
A sentinel who guarded all the land.
No wall remains, no witness to his power,
His music stilled in this his twilight hour.
I wrote WINDOW SEAT during a visit to America. The reference to “Munt’s soft
sands” (verse 2) is to several delightful holidays there with my wife and young
children.
WINDOW SEAT
I will take the wings of the morning
And fly towards the west,
Where a golden day is dawning
And friends will make me blest.
I will cross the lovely coves of Wales
Recalling Munt’s soft sands.
Our foot-prints fade, our memory pales,
Time flies to further lands.
Black thunder clouds rise like mountains,
Grey stratus masks our wing,
Blue seas, white foam, and spray fountains;
Flight’s beauty makes me sing.
And all that I see speaks of glory,
Of God’s creative power.
We play but small parts in His story;
Our journey ends – at His hour.
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