I was travelling. I still am, but
once upon a time I was on my way through
a particular place. It was north of Wantage
that I stopped and stepped out
of my car to survey a white
canyon.
They'd been cutting through the chalk,
the power of human engineering on a grand scale,
near the beginning of motorway evolution;
making a straight way for mankind.
I wondered at all the remains of creatures
living how many years ago? that made this dead chalk.
Scattered around were broken flints.
This one
drew my eye. A survivor, almost unscathed.
Its curves record a once fluid form, speaking
of the heat of creation, of powerful forces still at work
destroying and re-creating, volcanoes, earthquakes, after shocks...
How small the scratches of human engineering.
I picked it up and took it on my journey.
Is it mine?
No, it's His:
Creator of me.
I refer to Him in wonder.
Frail and intricate, I pass by and hold
this particular survivor.
When my travelling's done and the traffic thunders on
relentless and forgetful of the place,
this flint will remain wherever,
still.
ROAD WORKS AHEAD
FOLLOW THE DIVERSION
Road-works ? I’d rather have potholes !
Or go on foot, on leather soles.
Engines braying, tempers fraying
More gas, more water,
More electric, fibre-optic
More holes, more chaos !
With what will Wantage strangers greet –
Frustration and a car-clogged street ?
ROAD AHEAD CLOSED
WAIT HERE WHEN RED LIGHT SHOWS
Alfred the Great (born Wantage, 849)
Market place; he stands in isolation.
Known for culinary conflagration,
The object of two vandalous attacks –
How scandalous to steal his battle axe !
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
But what makes Alfred great ?
At Ashdown with his massive axe and helm
He fought the Danes and drove them from his realm.
A firm believer in education,
In order, justice, administration,
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
And this made Alfred great.
A naval fleet he set upon the sea
And with Mercian and Welsh diplomacy
His armies, garrisons, forts and palisades
Ensured defence against all future raids.
He burned the cakes and chased the Danes
Isn’t our Alfred, Great ?
Avebury a Wiltshire village low
To windswept beacon of Ivinghoe.
Eighty-five miles,vale and hill
Wayfare freedoms,exhilarate and thrill.
Striding downs in grassy scrub
Midst trees and clumps of shrub;
Shaded lanes,gates and stiles,
Wayside pubs to rest awhile.
Overton to Wantage plain
Goring and Streatly in the rain;
Chinnor to Bledlow,in freezing chill,
To Buckmoor,Chequers and Coombe Hill.
Wendover to Hastoe through morning dew
Wigginton,Albury onto Beacon view;
Natural history and species now rare,
Time to idle or just stand and stare.
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