On the occasion of Margaret Briggs' 92nd. birthday this April, 2008, three members of her family produced and declaimed these enjoyable and thoughtful verses, at a party held in Thames Ditton Cricket Club's pavilion. It was an occasion for much literary and other fun. These verses are reproduced with her blessing and copyright remains wholly vested with the authors and with her.
ENGLAND MY ENGLAND
What have we done to you - England my England?
What yet shall be done to you - England my own?
- with apologies to William Ernest Henley 1849-1903
......... the Curmudgeonly Octogenarian looks on the world with despair…...
With adoption of continental kisses
And rejection of traditional upper lip;
With succumbing to artificial stresses
And subjection to counselling's cheap grip;
The will to win is now the major virtue
And England's 'Play the game' no longer rules;
Foul play, if seen, can rarely ever hurt you
And playing fair is thought a game for fools.
To strike, un-English, well below the belt,
Or kick a man when down, seems now the norm
Accepted so by all and never felt
To be beyond the pale, or thought bad form.
The current music scene that's overtaken
The songs of England's lovely panorama
Has made the very landscape shaken
With jungle music to a drumbeat drama.
Political correctness so absurd
Has even made our sacred language change,
No longer can one choose the vital word
So commonplace experiences sound strange.
Education methods have distorted
The traditional instruction of the child.
And pupil self-direction has aborted
All subjects which the past had thought worthwhile.
Universities are seen to be expanding
With courses which have little basic worth;
Their graduates have little understanding
Of anything of value on this earth.
Displays of Modern Art are so debased
That patent lack of talent is rewarded,
Appalling objects in appalling taste
Are shown in the Tate Modern and applauded.
The poetry of today is but old purple prose
Divided into stanzas. For better or for worse,
Even when the message is worth telling
It lacks the memorability of good verse.
Sentiment has superseded reason,
Self-satisfaction overtaken thought.
Dear England sleeps in this false season -
Lost is the very land for which we fought.
written and recited by Ralph Cradick
....but now, the young man replies.... read on...