From John Betjeman, ‘The Dear Old Village’, 1947
Behind rank elders, shadowing a pool,
And near the Church, behold the Village School,
Its gable rising out of ivy thick
Shows "Eighteen-Sixty" worked in coloured brick.
By nineteen-forty-seven, hurrah! hooray
This institution has outlived its day.
In the bad times of old feudality
The villagers were ruled by masters three-Squire,
parson, schoolmaster. Of these, the last
Knew best the village present and its past.
Now, I am glad to say, the man is dead,
The children have a motor-bus instead,
And in a town eleven miles away
We train them to be "Citizens of To-day."
And many a cultivated hour they pass
In a fine school with walls of vita-glass.
Civics, eurhythmics, economics, Marx,
How-to-respect-wild-life-in-National-Parks;
Plastics, gymnastics-thus they learn to scorn
The old thateh'd cottages where they were born.
So that would be one of they new secondary moderns.
Showing posts with label Betjeman. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Betjeman. Show all posts
Monday, 8 February 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)