Dormitory

These are photographs of my village Taken over a hundred years ago The streets look just the same As those I used to know When Fifty or more years later That village was my family home And i wandered them as a child With streets and fields to roam. They show a part of my family Each stood by their front door On the little row of cottages That isn’t there any more. Condemned, demolished, erased, New dwelling replacing the old Some not yet quite finished But each one already sold. Large, desirable modern residences Where once workers’ homes had stood The village of my childhood changed But not necessarily for the good. None of those posing for photographers Could afford to live here these days Once working village dormitories now As they have adjusted to modern ways. One farm worker can do the work of ten So you don’t need the labourer in the field And modern mobility means most villages Are full of commuters or the retired well heeled. The orchards, allotments, garden meadows That lined nearly every road and street Have identikit brick dwellings built on Grass destroying foundation concrete . Sometimes, unrecognised, i visit my past Still enough unchanged to make it hard To accept these days my family presence Is restricted to graves in the old churchyard. Maybe it’s my imagination at work But it seems to me a peculiar thing As i wander those known streets again I no longer hear so many birds sing.