The ages of man in West Street ...

Early this morning I took my mum for her Sunday walk -

She'd been getting restless, opening the door to look out into the pinched street -

She thinks Den's been Anne said - spiriting your dad away to the Day Centre - 

We walked up West Street, past Abbeyfield - 

Near the post box, past the Catholic Church, we caught up with a man walking even more slowly than we were - 

His back was bent, his body twisted and withered by his years -

A young mum with her hopping skipping boy went past -

The boy turned to look wonderingly -

There we were, the ages of mankind, blown along by the wind in West Street - 

09.30

Sunday 30 April 2017

West Street

Havant 

Hampshire 

Clothes dusted with memory ...

Anne took some old clothes to the Sue Ryder shop this afternoon - 

I pictured the racks of strange dresses, the reefs of Mills and Boons - 

There would be sad china on the shelves, a nest of widower's tables near the till - 

The scent of empty bedrooms would fill the shop - 

Each abandoned garment would carry the dust of memory - 

16.30

Saturday 29 April 2017

Sue Ryder Shop

Wareham 

Dorset  

This path still felt their precious weight ...

Long years lay upon the church like fallen leaves - 

I'd gazed at the memorial tablet for Captain Charles Howard - 

A closed bible held fast the words of prophets - 

 

Not far from where we stood was the village war memorial, overlooked by two tall trees - 

The quiet houses remembered homely names - 

In the wood, we'd smelled the fragile scent of blue bells - 

I imagined the young men who'd walked here before me - 

Their ears had heard this birdsong - 

This path still felt their precious weight - 

11.27

Friday 28 April 2017

Ashmore

Dorset 

Idling in Bill's ...

In Bill's I admired the barista's arts - 

Tessa sipped a latte - 

Above the ancient roof was the pale April sky - 

The Cathedral Spire cast a pious shadow - 

A travelling man played an accordion in a narrow street -

We'd walked by small houses, each one with its secret garden - 

The clear river flowed over smooth white stones - 

I considered drinking a Bramble Berry Infusion - 

Smiling pensioners ordered Fisherman's Pie - 

Tessa told me about the Johari Window - 

I tried to imagine my unknown self ...

10.30 

Wednesday 27 April 2017

Bill's 

Salisbury 

Wiltshire 

I sit like Pushkin, amongst my friends ...

The new bookshelves are now filled - 

Sunlight falls upon foxed Penguins and worn Everymans - 

I think of all the libraries I've loved - 

I remember the bound copies of The Hampshire Chronicle in a room reached by marble stairs - 

I read about ship movements, East Indiamen bound for Madras, rick-burning in sad villages, the names of the quality in Assembly Rooms - 

I saw beautiful maps in the library of the Literary and Philosohical Society - 

I sat under the dome of a murmuring reading room, jostled by famous ghosts - 

I can still smell the scent of arcane journals - 

Now I sit like Pushkin, amongst my friends - 

I dream of waiting stories, pristine words - 

17.00

Tuesday 25 April 2017

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset 

The blue certificate ...

I place the blue certificate upon the mantlepiece - 

Bravery Award it reads - bravery in the face of adversity - 

I remembered the swollen face inches from my own, the unreality of the moment, John Hallam's land ship in the car park - 

I felt spittle upon my cheek - I heard the absurd obscenities - 

This is like a film, I thought - this is not happening - 

But there he was, the dad come to sort out the teachers - 

There I was, saying you can't come in - 

A few weeks later, he was run out of the estate - 

Graffiti said he was a grass - 

That, or he'd stolen someone's book - 

Next morning Mike presented me with the award - 

The staff clapped and cheered - 

These are my people I thought - 

They deserve awards far more than me - 

19.30

Monday 24 April 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

Precious maps ...

I wonder when I took these photographs - 

There's Anne, paying Farmer Davis the rent for our bed on the moonlit grass - 

There she is, her long legs bare, riding a red bike like an Amazon - 

There she is, climbing a tree, fearless and supple - 

That's me, wearing a blue shirt, drinking a vino tinto - 

My wet hair is thick - I'm reed slim - 

There's Beverley, half smiling, sitting in a chair as though it were her throne - 

I took these photographs whilst I journeyed through the land of my young years - 

Now I trace my path across a precious map - 

17.41

Sunday 23 April 2017

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset 

A bumper before the tree of glory ...

I read once more that Mr Jonathan Wild was descended from the great Wolfstan Wild - 

I admired Fielding's elegant convoluted prose - 

Before he climbed the tree of glory the Thief taker General drank the health of his friends in a bumper of brandy - 

I'd found the book in the ninth box, under a foxed Everyman - 

I remembered the bookshop in Winchester - 

I'd reeled later into Evensong - 

The cathedral was filled with ancient song - 

17.01

Saturday April 22 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke 

Dorset 

 

The nine boxes ...

Anne and Richard carried the nine boxes out from under the stairs -

In each box were books I'd not opened for twenty years -

I recognised their covers, their once familiar pages - 

The words had waited in the dark, unread save by spiders -  

Now I felt their breath upon my face - 

Soon I'd meet old friends, remember bookshops, recall afternoons reading under younger skies - 

14.00

Friday 21 April 2017

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset 

What do you mean by jaunty? ...

We were lolling in the dunes - 

People might think we were jaunty Richard said - 

This sand is like a sofa I said - 

I picked up a white shell from the beach - 

Some students walked past with clipboards and ernest biros - 

A girl carried two measuring poles - 

Mums poured out tea in beach huts - 

Bold sons launched kites into the salty air - 

What do you mean by jaunty? I asked - 

14.30

Thursday 20 February 2017

Studland Bay

Dorset

Walking in Polar Wood ...

A year ago, I walked in Polar Wood - 

Today I saw again the drifts of blue bells and wild garlic flowers -  

It was if they were waiting for me - 

Narrow paths wavered under new leaves -

Once more I felt the ancient calm of the wood, the blessing of the flowers - 

Behind me, following my footsteps, were my younger selves - 

Each one had a word for me, of love or hard won wisdom - 

11.06

Wednesday 19 April 2017

Polar Wood 

Swyre Head 

Dorset

Enrichissez-vous ...

Whilst on the cross trainer, I glanced up at the flat screen TV -  

A smiling shiny woman was making an announcement - 

Unity I heard - stability - leadership - 

I just heard Guizot's words - 

Enrichissez-vous - 

Tuesday 18 April 2017

Purbeck Sports Centre 

Wareham 

Dorset

Watching Maigret ...

When we got back from The Old House at Home, my dad was watching Maigret - 

Look at his pipe he said - 

He read the cast list in the Radio Times - 

He plays the part well he said - 

The impassive flic picked up a clumsy phone - 

My mum was sitting on the sofa, wearing two skirts -

She's got up I said -

She thinks it's morning - 

20.30

Sunday 16 April 2017

Staunton Road

Havant 

Hampshire 

Havant Easter Sunday ...

 

I'd take your mum out for a walk soon Anne said - she's starting to touch the saucepans -

It was Easter Sunday - 

I helped my mum into her jacket - 

My dad sat in his armchair, his eyes closed - 

He'd not opened last year's Alan Bennett - 

I walked with my mum into Boundary Way - 

A man wearing a white tee shirt lifted his son out of a Ford Transit - 

Happy Easter to you he said - 

The Magnolia tree in Cross Way was now in blossom - 

A morning drinker chained his push bike to the lamp post outside The Prince of Wales - 

In St Faith's, Canon Tom raised his voice in celebration - 

Sunday 16 April 2017

Havant 

Hampshire 

The moon lifts, radiant with terror ...

At five in the morning I thought of Robert Lowell's words - 

I lay in there in the greying dark - 

I remembered a dream I'd had about the end of the world - 

I'd stood in the back alley outside my parents' house - 

The sky had turned red - 

A silence had fallen upon the trees -

A vast invisible shape was moving over the rooftops - 

I woke to a boy's narrow bed - 

Now it was 1962 again - 

Each night I'd see the moon - 

I'd see its yellow eye - 

I would be bathed in its pale fire - 

05.00 

Saturday 15 April 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset 

Searching for the lost city of Z ...

I'm waiting to see The Lost City of Z - 

I can remember saying to my teacher I want to be an explorer -

I was 12 years old - 

I'd read about Colonel Fawcett -

I dreamed of forgotten kingdoms in the jungle - 

I'd study maps of the Amazon and the Empty Quarter - 

I longed to set up camp under strange stars, to meet shamans with feathers in their hair -

I saw myself riding a dromedary across an ocean of sand - 

I wanted to uncover the tomb of a legendary king - 

No you can't my teacher said -  everything's been discovered - 

No it hasn't I thought - 

19.00

Friday 14 April 2017

Seat I1

The Rex 

Wareham

Dorset

The ordering of dreams ...

Line by line, I'm remembering Venice - 

I've opened the journal I kept one sultry August - 

I'm reading once again my scrawled observations, my tipsy aperçus - 

There I am, dizzy with grappa, lingering in

the Calle del Paradiso - 

I'm standing in the basilica of Santa Maria Assunta - 

I'm lost in the louche disorder of the Libreria Acqua Alta - 

I'm re-casting each artless word I wrote - 

I left off for far too long the ordering of my dreams - 

16.05

Thursday 13 April 2017

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset

Glimpsing St Catherine's Chapel ...

I saw the chapel through the trees - 

The dark stones on the hilltop held my gaze - 

Newly unfolded leaves were like birthday gifts - 

Blossoms reflected the generous sunlight - 

Elegant fish were lords of shining pools - 

A stone vase, shaped like an amphora, stood amongst immaculate tulips -  

I remembered standing inside the chapel one day in winter - 

I'd looked up to see a dove, its white wings stirring the darkness -   

From the hilltop, I'd seen the cleansing sea - 

12.30

Tuesday 11 April 2017

Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens

Dorset

Each tree was like a wand of light ...

The gardens were not far from the sea, within a prayer's reach of St Catherine's Chapel - 

We'd driven past houses made of glowing stone - 

Ridgeways still guided footsteps from hilltop to hilltop, high above the quiet valleys - 

Deep in the garden, we came across a birch grove - 

There was bright grass beneath our feet -

Each tree was like a wand of light -

12.00

Tuesday 11 April 2017

Abbotsbury Subtropical Gardens

Dorset

 

 

Americanos at Joes ...

Two bright eyed dogs watched us approach the table - 

The man from Bournemouth offered to move them - 

There were yachts moored off shore as there would be in summer - 

We could hear the buzzing pepped up snarl of jet skis - 

A lithe mother carried her bare legged son, wide eyed with his innocent years - 

A dad tended sand castles - 

We sat with our Americanos - 

Five pine trees overlooked the beach - 

I remembered swimming here, wading out hundreds of yards from the green shore - 

Each movement of the sea upon my skin would wash away the years - 

I'd be a boy again, learning to swim in another sea, hearing voices which would never change - 

15.00

Saturday 7 April 2017

Joe's

South Beach

Studland 

Dorset 

I watched the sun give way to the moon ...

The blue sky above the tower prompted memories of sunlit courtyards, lemon trees in blossom, a dish of olives in a drowsy cafe - 

Birds were singing in the bright garden - 

A small plane idled overhead - 

The newly mown lawn smelled of summer - 

I counted my heartbeats one by one - 

I knew the sun would soon be followed by the moon - 

The seasons would turn, the birds would fly across the sea - 

Yet the fruit would still hang from the tree - 

The songs would still be heard - 

My footsteps would still mark the grass - 

The Old School House 

East Stoke 

Dorset 

Sunday 9 April 2017

Becoming a curmudgeon ...

Paul's was shut this afternoon - 

He was on holiday - I wondered if he and his wife had gone to Sark again - 

I got my hair cut in a unisex salon instead  - 

I'd hoped to find a close lipped barber, a man with sharp scissors and of few courtesies -

I'd be able to sit in his chair and have no need to speak - 

Perhaps there'd be a Daily Mail I could read or a copy of Carpworld - 

I looked in vain - 

Georgie cut my hair - 

How's your day been? she asked me smiling - 

I'm turning into a curmudgeon I thought - 

14.00

Friday 7 April 2017

Wareham

Dorset 

Memories as pebbles in our pockets ...

I'm reading Paul Auster's Winter Journal - 

There he is, on the front cover, still young, with high cheek bones, looking a bit like Kafka - 

I try to recall, as he does, my early memories - a few small islands of recollection in an otherwise endless sea of black - 

So I remember the classroom, the early darkness of winter, the scalding radiators - 

It was the last lesson of the day, towards the end of term - 

I was a pupil at Elson Junior School, wary of bigger boys - 

Our teacher, whose name I now shamefully forget, was reading to us - 

It was the first chapter of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe - 

I wanted the listening to go on forever - 

I sensed magic stealing over the playground - 

I stood next to Lucy when she saw the faun - 

I felt the snow fall upon my face from the enchanted sky - 

Any door, I realised, might open on a different world - 

I feel even now the sense of loss, the disappointment, I felt then when miss shut the book - 

That's all she must have said, or similar words - 

Rather than islands, I'd compare memories to pebbles we might carry in our pockets - 

Some fall out, or get lost - 

Others we pick up, still smooth, or worn away - 

Ah we say now I remember - 

15.48

Thursday 6 April 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset

 

Treasure in a dreaming house ...

I'm lolling on the sofa, feeling slightly better - 

I can see the apple tree through the window, the blue of the April sky - 

Small birds hide amongst the new leaves - 

Pine trees border the churchyard - 

This morning, I found a poem Sophie had written for me - 

It was like a treasure discovered in a dreaming house - 

Each beautiful word was to be placed inside my heart - 

16.00

Wednesday 5 April 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset

The smell of cigarettes ...

I'm sitting in my chair, reading Simon Raven, sipping honey and lemon - 

The ribald anecdotes divert me me for a while - 

I then imagine lanes winding through drowsy pastures - 

I think of poignant photographs and childhood holidays - 

Memories were shared on a sunlit lawn - a disco in a parish hall, the smell of cigarettes in a twilight field - 

15.00

Tuesday 4 April 2017

The Old School House

East Stoke

Dorset