Sunday, 2 August 2015

England Dear to Me


Dear Reader,

This poem "England Dear to Me" is very self explanatory.  I think everyone has a favourite place in England that conjures up memories of houses, or holidays, somewhere in the hills perhaps or on a special beach picniking.  For many years I spent holidays in North Norfolk, often in the pouring rain and frequently with rather tired and cross children.   But looking back I think with enormous affection of those long walks to the sandy, empty beaches, carrying umbrellas, baskets and all the necessary equipment for a day's stay at the seaside. I wrote this poem trying to  and think of all the things english that made my spirits rise, and made me  feel proud of my beautiful country.

England Dear to Me

It is the robins, blackbirds, blue tits,
hopping and grubbing in the garden
that lurch my heart
make England dear to me.
It is the velvet of green moss,
oak trees, old with history,
the first cowslips,
hedgerows filled with dog rose, foxgloves
and shy sweetpeas in china bowls.
It is finding tea rooms in small market towns,
enticing with homemade scones and strawberry jam,
or suddenly glimpsing church spires
inching their way to heaven.
It is finding a Norman church,
full with a thousand years of prayer,
and a quiet churchyard mothering its dead.
It is small country lanes, high hedged,
views of mauve hills stretching skywards,
sheep and lambs dotting the green,
and bleached Norfolk beaches,
silence only broken wit a seagull's cry.
It is the people,
their sense of humour,
their way of saying "sorry" when you bump into them,
their fairness, and once or twice a year
their "letting go",
singing "Jerusalem" with tears and passion.

It is these things
that lurch my heart
make England dear to me.


                *

A musing this week,

Lat week I was speculating on the aggression of seagulls; this week I saw a story about a peacock called Percy.   Percy apparently has caused thousands of pounds worth of damage to cars by attacking its own reflection, mistaking it for a rival. So what has happened to our feathered friends, I wonder?
Has the global anger that seems to pervade everything we do, and say, wafted out to the  woods,  tree tops, mountains, lakes, and rivers - and have the birds caught it on the wing and decided to copy us human beings?  Aggressive people, aggressive birds?

Best wishes,
Patricia

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