Trebetherick

We used to picnic where the thrift
Grew deep and tufted to the edge;
We saw the yellow foam flakes drift
In trembling sponges on the ledge
Below us, till the wind would lift
Them up the cliff and o’er the hedge.
Sand in the sandwiches, wasps in the tea,
Sun on our bathing dresses heavy with the wet,
Squelch of the bladder-wrack waiting for the sea,
Fleas around the tamarisk, an early cigarette.

Trebetherick

From where the coastguard houses stood
One used to see below the hill,
The lichened branches of a wood
In summer silver cool and still;
And there the Shade of Evil could
Stretch out at us from Shilla Mill.
Thick with sloe and blackberry, uneven in the light,
Lonely round the hedge, the heavy meadow was remote,
The oldest part of Cornwall was the wood as black as night,
And the pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat.

Trebetherick

But when a storm was at its height,
And feathery slate was black in rain,
And tamarisks were hung with light
And golden sand was brown again,
Spring tide and blizzard would unite
And sea come flooding up the lane.

Trebetherick

Waves full of treasure then were roaring up the beach,
Ropes round our mackintoshes, waders warm and dry,
We waited for the wreckage to come swirling into reach,
Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and I.

Then roller into roller curled
And thundered down the rocky bay,
And we were in a water world
Of rain and blizzard, sea and spray,
And one against the other hurled
We struggled round to Greenaway.
Blesséd be St Enodoc, blesséd be the wave,
Blesséd be the springy turf, we pray, pray to thee,
Ask for our children all happy days you gave
To Ralph, Vasey, Alistair, Biddy, John and me.

Trebetherick
Trebetherick
Has charm
Not the sticky transatlantic variety
Or indeed the honey continental strain
But rather the uniquely English charm of old houndstooth jackets,
Unobtrusive courtesy and a complete lack of condescension

Trebetherick
Trebetherick

Anarchy should be a joyous thing:
it should take place in the heart and mind,
and speak to the heart and mind
A social revolution, broadly, should be possible
I think vandalism is poetic,
Because it’s an expression of one human being’s otherness
I think human beings are incredibly tolerant;
if they really sat down and thought about how they are mistreated,
then there really would be a revolution

Trebetherick

The pheasant and the rabbit lay torn open at the throat

Trebetherick

words: John Betjeman with added James Fox
music: Smack

see also:

Subterranean Night Mail