Written by
John Betjeman |
From the geyser ventilators
Autumn winds are blowing down
On a thousand business women
Having baths in Camden Town
Waste pipes chuckle into runnels,
Steam's escaping here and there,
Morning trains through Camden cutting
Shake the Crescent and the Square.
Early nip of changeful autumn,
Dahlias glimpsed through garden doors,
At the back precarious bathrooms
Jutting out from upper floors;
And behind their frail partitions
Business women lie and soak,
Seeing through the draughty skylight
Flying clouds and railway smoke.
Rest you there, poor unbelov'd ones,
Lap your loneliness in heat.
All too soon the tiny breakfast,
Trolley-bus and windy street!
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Written by
Barry Tebb |
When my mam had to go
Up north to look after gran,
Margaret’s mam said I could
Stop with them; while they were
Sorting it out Margaret looked
Away, pretending to go all shy
But there was a gleam in her eye,
Anyway it was the six weeks’
Holiday and six weeks with
Margaret night and day was a
Sun and blue sky heaven to my
Ten-year old heart.. the hot
Pavements we sat on telling stories,
The bin-yards we played catch-and-
Kiss in, the wagons with wheels
Higher than our heads we hid
Behind, the river bank we chased
Along, the green railings round
The locked petrol pumps you
Somersaulted over, your dress
Above your head, your navy
Blue knickers in full view.
Your mam said, "You two needn’t
Think you’re keeping me awake
All night with your stories,
I’ve put you together in the attic!"
There was an enormous double-bed
With a carved wooden head-board
And a counter-pane in green with
Tassels in between and a huge
White bolster. My mam would have
Had a fit but she was off on
The train to Durham City and even
Margaret herself was a bit surprised
At her mam being so easy going
But that was her mam all over.
There was a tiny skylight
With just enough light to see by,
A huge mahogany chest of drawers
And Margaret and me. I’d never
Undressed in front of a girl
Before and Margaret said, "Me mam
’Ad no business mekin’ us share"
And went a bit red as she pulled
Her dress over her head, firmly
Pushing teddy to the middle
Of the bed.
We could hear Margaret’s
Mam downstairs getting grandad’s
Supper, the smell of steak and
Chips rising. Margaret said,
"You can kiss me good-night
If you like" and I liked and
Kissed her then suddenly she
Asked "Do you know what they
Do in bed? You know what I mean!"
But I said I didn’t really.
She pulled her vest up
And her knickers down,
"All right you’ve seen
Everything now!" deftly
Donning a white nightdress
With a border of flowers
On the collar
"The man puts it inside
The woman," I said, going red.
She replied, "I’ve never let
Anyone see me in the nude before.
I didn't think I’d dare but with
You, I knew it’d be different,
You’d never try anything on."
In the middle of the night
The cats in the binyard woke us,
The whole house silent, we
Were very close, her face
Was next to mine.
She put her finger to her lips,
"Swear you’ll never tell!"
I swore and touched her where
She put my hand:
"One day well get married
And do it for real."
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Written by
William Topaz McGonagall |
'Twas in the year of 1898, and on the 8th of June,
A mother and six children met with a cruel doom
In one of the most fearful fires for some years past
And as the spectators gazed upon them they stood aghast
The fire broke out in a hairdresser's, in the town of Scarborough,
And as the fire spread it filled the people's hearts with sorrow;
But the police and the fire brigade were soon on the ground,
Then the hose and reel were quickly sent round.
Oh! it was horrible to see the flames leaping up all around,
While amongst the spectators the silence was profound,
As they saw a men climb out to the parapet high,
Resolved to save his life, or in the attempt to die!
And he gave one half frantic leap, with his heart full of woe,
And came down upon the roof of a public-house 20 feet below;
But, alas! he slipped and fell through the skylight,
And received cuts and bruises: oh, what a horrible sight!
He was the tenant of the premises, Mr Brookes,
And for his wife and family he enquires, with anxious looks,
But no one could tell him, it did appear,
And when told so adown his cheeks flowed many a tear.
He had been sleeping by himself on the second floor,
When suddenly alarmed, he thought he'd make sure,
And try to escape from the burning pile with his life,
And try and save his family and his wife.
The fire brigade played on the first door with greet speed,
But the flames had very inflammable fuel upon which to feed,
So that the fire spread with awful rapidity,
And in twenty minutes the building was doomed to the fourth storey.
The firemen wrought with might and main,
But still the fire did on them gain,
That it was two hours before they could reach the second floor,
The heat being so intense they could scarcely it endure.
And inside all the time a woman and six children were there,
And when the firemen saw them, in amazement they did stare;
The sight that met their eyes made them for to start
Oh, Heaven! the sight was sufficient to rend the strongest heart.
For there was Mrs Brookes stretched dead on the floor,
Who had fallen in trying her escape for to procure.
She was lying with one arm over her ten months old child,
And her cries for help, no doubt, were frantic and wild;
And part of her arm was burned off as it lay above
The child she was trying to shield, which shows a mother's love.
For the baby's flesh was partly uninjured by the flames,
Which shows that the loving mother had endured great pains;
It, however, met its death by suffocation,
And as the spectators gazed thereon, it filled their hearts with consternation.
The firemen acted heroicallv, without any dread,
And when they entered the back premises they found the six children dead;
But Mr Brookes, 'tis said, is still alive,
And I hope for many years he will survive.
Oh, Heaven! it is cruel to perish by fire,
Therefore let us be watchful before to our beds we retire,
And see that everything is in safe order before we fall asleep,
And pray that God o'er us in the night watch will keep.
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Written by
Vachel Lindsay |
Why do I see these empty boats, sailing on airy seas?
One haunted me the whole night long, swaying with every breeze,
Returning always near the eaves, or by the skylight glass:
There it will wait me many weeks, and then, at last, will pass.
Each soul is haunted by a ship in which that soul might ride
And climb the glorious mysteries of Heaven's silent tide
In voyages that change the very metes and bounds of Fate —
O empty boats, we all refuse, that by our windows wait!
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