Roadside Shrine

This poem was written following a terrible accident in the first few hours of New Year's Day morning a couple of years back, which took the lives of three young men.

Tree

Deep, vicious scar, inflecting upwards to the left

Revealing creaminess beneath the brown,

Scabrous bark broken in many places,

Scratches and marks amongst dark cladding,

A trail of evidence leading backwards

Through severed wire, fallen, rusting,

Shattered fence, scattered firewood,

Harsh, thick grooves in the mud,

Grass churned, turned aside,

Black tracks, a slick on the road,

Evidence of speed and skid,

Measured and documented,

Needed for the accident report

And the inquests on these boys. 

Sharp, hard metal once embedded,

Cutting, slicing, scything its path

To leave disfigurement,

A lasting defacement. 

Now a natural grave-marker,

Arboreal cenotaph,

Supporting fading floral tributes

In shining cellophane

Marking the death-place,

Shrine for grieving relatives,

Stark warning to passing drivers. 

Early hours, New Year’s morning,

A shape shifting at the edge of the wood,

A flash of feral eyes

Reflected in main-beams,

Suddenly frightened, fleeing,

Running out, across their path

In the pitch-black night. 

Swerving, screaming, screeching,

Smashing, crashing, careering,

And a heavy, hard, bloody impact. 

A creature dashes away

Through thick undergrowth,

Escapes into open fields

And looks back, its own heart still beating.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Big Cat On The Loose

I'm always reading stories about sightings of "big cats" in the British Countryside.  We had one of these incidents recently when a mangled deer carcase was found.  DNA testing proved that it was "a fox wot done it", but still the rumours go on.

Beast

A carcase lies splayed,

Deer dismembered,

Limbs at every angle,

Throat ripped out, entrails spilled,

Ribs exposed, gnawed and bloody,

Mouth grimaced in violent death.

No stoat, no weasel here,

Nor fox nor badger

Could cause such carnage,

Nor hunt, stalk, then haul down

Such heavy prey,

Nor rip and tear the flesh,

Leaving this grisly damage.

No hair, no skin, no tracks,

Neither teeth-marks, nor DNA,

No photos, prints or evidence,

But dogs, nervous, set to barking

As if there’s something there,

And rough men with guns

Shake their heads

And pull meaningful faces,

As if to say, knowingly,

A killer stalks these woods and fields,

Creature unseen, sly and stealthy,

Sleuth-like, sloping, sliding,

Slipping through trees,

A reported shape, a shadow

Large, long and lean,

Cunning, catlike killer,

Black, background-blending,

Fierce, feline, feral hunter,

Glimpsed in the greenery.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Serendipity

And they say there's no such thing as instant justice!

Splash                                    

Driving home, cold winter night,

Dank, dark, snowing still,

Traffic bad, peering ahead,

Round the corner, over the hill. 

Road and pavements all icy,

Sleet lying thick on the ground,

Windscreen wipers beating

Their regular heart’s sound. 

Two boys at the side of the road,

Doing something I cannot observe,

Smash my screen with a snowball,

Just as I come out of the curve. 

Momentarily startled,

Shocked, but keeping my nerve,

Holding on, juggling the steering,

Battling the skid and the swerve. 

Thoughtless, stupid little fools!

Can’t they see what they’ve done?

Nearly causing an accident,

All for their moment of fun. 

Wheels nearly striking the kerb,

Direction all in a muddle,

Driving through the slush and the mush,

Straight through a bloody big puddle. 

The intention was never mine,

Couldn’t see the pothole was there,

But to be perfectly honest,

I cursed, I didn’t really care. 

With such a happy circumstance,

Suddenly it’s all over in flash -

A huge arc of freezing cold water,

Covering them with a hell of a splash. 

Blinding the aggressors -

What a battle they’ve been in!

A cascade of retribution,

Soaking both through to the skin. 

Instant, cruel justice,

Dispensed without any trial,

Leaving them both fuming,

Whilst I drove off with a smile.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Recipe For Beef Broth

This is one of the all-time great recipes.  You can set this going, and eat it the same day.  Then keep eating it day after day as it thickens and matures, adding extra bits and more stock if you want to.  As it goes along it changes in taste, thickness and character.  It's the most versatile, delicious dish I know.

Recipe for: BEEF BROTH (with dumplings)

Ingredients:

• 1lb (or more) of lean stewing or braising steak, cubed into bite-size pieces
• Large onion, roughly chopped
• ½ swede, peeled & roughly chopped
• 2 medium carrots, peeled & roughly chopped
• 2 medium potatoes, peeled & cubed
• 4-6 oz peas (fresh or frozen)
• 2-4 oz red lentils
• Beef stock cube

Method: 

1. in a large heavy pan or casserole, put a pint of water on to boil.  Crumble in the stock cube and throw in the lentils
2. as the liquid is coming up to the boil, throw in the onions, swede, carrots, potatoes & the steak
3. once up to the boil, lower the heat to a simmer & skim off any scum which rises to the surface
4. cover & cook very gently for a couple of hours.  The lentils should become so soft that they become part of the liquid, helping to thicken it,
5. when the broth is almost ready, add the peas & cook until tender
6. adjust seasoning with salt & pepper
7. if using dumplings, drop them into the simmering liquid and cover with a lid, cooking for about 20 minutes, until the dumplings have fluffed up
8. serve in large soup bowls

What else you need to know: 

1. this dish is actually better if you make it one day, then let it cool and heat it up the next day
2. it gets even better if you keep it going for a few days – make a double quantity to start with, then keep topping up with extra hot water, another stock cube, fresh vegetable etc as you deplete the quantity by eating it.  The sauce thickens, matures & gets more depth.
3. you can add other veggies if you want – celery, courgette, tomato, mushroom – it doesn’t really matter – use your imagination!
4. it also works with chicken, but add later in the process & cook for a shorter period
5. great with dumplings, a floury baked potato, or even thick crusty bread with salty butter.

Farewell My Lovely

I must stress that I'm in a good relationship now, but in the past there have definitely been some mistakes......

Farewell My Lovely

Farewell my lovely, for I must go,

Though I’m not removed by any force,

I think that, for many reasons,

Our relationship has now run its course.

It wasn’t your dog that worried me,

Though his habits were certainly vile,

The postman’s out of hospital now,

And the locals don’t run for a mile.

I didn’t mind that you smoked,

Though sixty a day was over the top,

And though I couldn’t see you through the fog,

I never, ever begged you to stop. 

I’d quite got over the look of your face,

Though it was quite odd of a sort

Your crooked, lop-sided smile,

Topped off with a rectangular wart. 

I looked beyond your cauliflower ear,

Your tattoos never gave me a care,

Your broken nose was never an issue,

Nor that your palms were covered in hair.

But I’ll admit that I got a few shocks,

The first time that we went to bed,

Before taking all of your clothes off,

Your whipped your wig off instead. 

You know I’m no oil painting myself,

But I can’t deny that I was galled,

Having chatted up a blonde bombshell,

To find I was with a girl who was bald. 

The surgical stockings came off next,

Which you hung up on the peg,

Followed by two pairs of tights,

Then unfastened your wooden leg. 

I thought that this might un-nerve me,

But I didn’t want to appear pathetic,

Nor appear to be too un-grateful

At the sight of your pink prosthetic. 

But when you took out your teeth,

And placed them on the bed-side table,

I could see them grinning at me,

And I didn’t think that I’d be able. 

To love you in the way in the way I’d intended.

At that point, you remember, I turned shy,

And I had to look the other way,

As you removed your cheery glass eye.

You put it there in a glass on the side,

And it gave me a terrible fright,

As it stared at me -  not just at first,

But another twice in the night. 

So, you see, darling my dearest,

I’m not usually one to moan,

But I’m still left wondering,

How much of you is your own?

There’s so many parts to your make-up,

That make you look so fetching and fair.

But I’m going to find a new girl-friend,

And I’ll make sure the next one is all there.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Moving Day

Moving Day

Men come marching down the path,

Clear intent upon their faces.

They don’t give me a passing glance,

As one by one they shift the packing cases.

Mum and Dad don’t seem to mind,

And make no move to halt the flow.

I can’t bear to see them take our things,

And wonder where we’re all supposed to go.

Are we being thrown out upon the street?

And do the neighbours think it’s so?

Or is there more to this than meets the eye,

Another reason that we must go?

Mum says they’ve found another house,

Not far from here, and already signed,

But I don’t want to go from here,

Nor leave my play-mates far behind.

She says it will be better there,

A bigger garden, more room to play,

I’ll make new friends along The Avenue,

And soon forget those down our alley-way.

Young boys need space to breathe,

And says all this to calm my fears.

She smiles at my confusion,

And wipes away my floods of tears.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

News From Bromham - Headlines on Sunday 25th March

Bulletin From Bromham: Dateline – 25^th March 2012

Here is our weekly round-up of events from Bromham:

·       The Treasurer of Bromham Sports & Social Club unveiled his budget for the year on Wednesday.  George Goose-Burne said that his priority was to eradicate the club’s deficit at the bank of £97.62, and that, as a result, stringent fiscal control measures would have to be put in place.  He has therefore introduced changes to the way that elderly members will be charged for membership, rising by £1 a week.  This is to ensure that younger members do not have to change their Standing Orders for their golf club fees.

·       Dave Wentwrong, leader of the Parish Council’s ruling party the Field Land Owners’ Party (FLOP) has announced that the contract for sweeping the High Street once a month would be put out to tender.  He said that private companies would be invited to bid for this lucrative contract, but denied that they would be allowed to make vast profits at the ratepayers’ expense.

·       Stop Press:  in a shock statement, John Rather-Cruddy, co-treasurer of FLOP, has announced his immediate resignation, following revelations from an under-cover sting operation by the Bromham Bugle, that he offered private access to Dave Wentwrong in return for private substantial donations of root vegetables.  Rather-Cruddy is heard on the tape discussing the size of carrots required to enter “the Premier League” of donors, but later described his words as “mere bollocks”.

·       For details of these and all other Bromham stories, don’t forget to listen to local radio station Carrot FM.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

The Home Front

Here is a poem I wrote in support of fund-raising for Help For Heroes.

The Home Front

Every dreary day seems just the same,

Getting through the housework or the shopping,

Passing the time, anxiously waiting,

The clock is ticking, yet never stopping.

Answering her children’s questions,

About their father who’s far away,

Counting down the lonely hours,

Until the longed-for coming-home day.

Life must go on, keeping things together,

Maintaining home, things of that kind,

Wondering what’s happening out there -

It’s always hard on those left behind.

The not knowing works upon the nerves,

Never hearing anything that’s clear,

Always imagining the very worst,

Ever feeling that dreadful, creeping fear. 

He’s probably out on patrol right now,

Through the dusty landscape, on the tramp,

Never knowing what might happen next,

Before reaching the safety of the camp.

Helicopters screaming overhead,

Dealing with the heat, the dust and the sun,

Hoping not to be caught in a fire-fight,

Trying to stay alive till day is done.

Back at home, the picture’s different,

Although it’s no less of a strain.

The weather’s cold and ever dreary,

There’s fog and ice and driving rain.

But the harder part is something else,

Watching news reports on the TV,

Hearing of recent enemy actions,

Dear God, there’s been another IED. 

Not knowing what’s exactly happened,

But the truth has very slowly dawned,

Hearing those dreaded words again,

“The family has been informed”.

There’s been no knocking at her door,

No unwanted news to be heard,

Which means he’s probably still OK,

Nothing dreadful to him has yet occurred. 

But there can be no rest, no easy sleep,

Whilst her husband remains away.

Alert to every news bulletin,

Watching every repatriation day.

That it’s not her husband who’s carried,

Is a comfort and a private relief,

But she’s truly sorry for the others she sees,

Feeling fully part of their tearful grief.

She wants all of it to be over,

She longs to lead a normal life.

It’s so hard to keep on a brave face,

But she knows her man looks to his wife.

She’s the commander of the Home Front,

Doing her bit, doing her own share.

He needs something to come home to,

And it’s her job to make sure that it’s there.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2011

A Thief In The Night

A cautionary tale - beware of things that go bump in the night.

A Thief In The Night

Awoken by a bump in the night,

A noise I wish could have resisted.

I didn’t want to investigate,

But the wife – she’d insisted. 

So, armed with what first came to my hand,

I crept quietly down the stair,

Clutching a pair of her curling tongs,

To discover who might be there.

There was a light on in the kitchen -

So - there was the criminal joker!

I shouted out - just to warn him:

“Hey! I’m armed with a big poker!” 

I heard a noise, so I thought perhaps he’d gone,

And dashed bravely in, to chase off the thief,

But the sight that met my eyes,

Was one I could hardly believe. 

The youth, he was just sitting there,

In the chair, as calm as can be,

Helping himself to some cornflakes,

With cold milk, as far as I could see.

He didn’t look so threatening,

Slumped at the table, almost dejected,

He didn’t have the traditional look,

Of the cat-burglar I’d expected.

He wasn’t armed and dangerous,

And there was no sign of a mask,

He didn’t wear a long stripey jumper,

No bag marked “swag” to help in his task. 

He wasn’t alarmed to see me,

In fact, he didn’t even frown,

But said: “Calm yourself, Grandad! -

And put those curling-tongs down!”

I said: “A man’s home is his castle –

About that, you need to be clear,

You shouldn’t be eating my cornflakes,

In fact, you shouldn’t even be here!” 

He said that as I was here now,

He knew how I must feel.

He didn’t have the heart to burgle,

And from me he’d better not steal. 

House-breaking’s not all it’s cracked up to be,

The risks hardly make it worth-while,

Biting dogs and alarm systems

Were really cramping his style.

By the time I’d heard his story,

I could see things from his side,

And felt so very sorry for him,

Well, I very nearly cried.

I saw him out through the door,

Once he’d had a good rest,

I hoped he’d do well in the future,

And then I wished him all the best. 

I locked the door behind him,

Reflecting on what we’d both said,

And knowing that crime doesn’t pay,

Made my way, happily, back to bed.  

It was next morning that I discovered,

My wallet and keys he’d lifted,

He’d been back again in the night,

And all my valuables shifted.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

The Road To Hell

The Government's latest proposal to put the roads out to tender seems to me to be another nail in the coffin of our national infrastructure.  Why, given all the evidence to the contrary, do the Tories continue to believe faithfully in the power of privatisation?  Look at railways, gas, electricity, water - a complete bloody nightmare for customers, and a cash-stream for share-holderrs & consultants. I despair.  Here is my rant on the subject.

The Road To Hell

They’ve already sold off the railways,

The water, the power and the gas,

They had a good go at the forests,

Now something worse is coming to pass. 

They want to put the roads out to tender,

To see how much money they’ll get.

They’re dismantling the infrastructure,

And it’s the maddest scheme they’ve had yet. 

They say it’s for greater efficiency,

To be managed by private enterprise.

How it’s all going to be so much better –

I can’t tell if that’s stupidity, or lies. 

Now I have to admit there’s a problem

With our national network of tarmac -

It’s not in any great condition,

Being filled with potholes and many a crack. 

The roads are a curse, they’re going to get worse,

I can already hear some of your moans,

They won’t give a damn, as we sit in a jam,

And stare at a long line of cones. 

Our great super-highways will become rural byways,

Into dis-repair they’ll finally drop.

There’ll be a short hike between each turnpike,

Where will this insanity stop?

It’ll get colder, out on the hard shoulder,

Just let me give you the cold facts -

Once they’ve sold off the silver,

They’ll be asking for yet more road tax. 

You see in the main, they’ll want private gain,

We need to nip this scheme in the bud,

It’ll be too enticing, to miss out on road-pricing,

It won’t be at all for the public good. 

So let me be tutor, and show you the future,

Let me describe some outsourcing jive:

Next time you drive forth, and you’re going North,

You’ll be using the “Budweiser M5”.

It’ll be poor, on the “Pepsi M4”,

Specially if you’re driving a bus,

You’ll be sorry, if you’re in an old lorry,

But remember: “Your car is important to us!”

If you wish to drive, on the M25,

You might think you’re going insane,

It won’t be a dash, if you don’t tip up the cash

To drive in the “Barclay’s First Class Lane”.

Apart from the fines, there’ll be more signs,

There’ll be no end to their marketing tricks:

I’m sure one will say: “Have a Nice Day,

And Thanks for using the Tesco M6”. 

We’ll all hit the dole, if we pay every toll,

We’ll be depressed by the new Highway Code,

It’ll be a strain, if we want to complain

To the new regulator, known as “OffRoad”. 

So let’s prevent this highway robbery:

And say that the roads we’re not willing to sell,

Tell ‘em it’s badness, amounting to madness,

For truly – this is the Road To Hell.

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012

Job Application - Archbishop of Canterbury

Retirement is starting to pall on me, so I thought I'd better get off my bum & do something.  As Rowan Williams has announced that he's resigning his post as Archbishop of Canterbury, leader of all Anglicans world-wide, top banana in the C of E etc etc, I thought I'd get my job application in early.  Here it is in poetic form.

A Canterbury Tail

So the Very Reverend’s moving on,

He’s had enough – that’s very plain to see:

He’s handed in his resignation,

And created a welcome vacancy. 

The seat at Canterbury’s waiting,

The highest position, right at the top.

Soon they’ll advertising the post,

Looking for their newest Archbishop.

So I thought I’d better get in early,

And demonstrate that I’m capable.

Let’s run through the highlights of my CV,

And lay all of my cards on the table.

I could do all of the things that he did:

I’d be good at being an Anglican,

I could pontificate on world affairs,

Yes – I could be the church’s Ethics Man. 

I’d do well, as an Evangelical,

I could ride round in a bishop’s carriage,

I’d have a view, on everything new,

And pronounce on the subject of gay marriage. 

I’d be a beast, frocked as a priest,

I could lead the world-wide congregation.

I’d be a gent, at the sacraments,

Burial, marriage, and ordination.

I’d be a rock, supporting my flock,

Spreading the word with great gentleness,

And I’d gladly accept female vicars-

Well, I’d have to – since I’d be wearing a dress. 

I’d be a zealot, acting the prelate.

My archdiocese would be boisterous.

I’m dying to live in Westminster Palace,

A place that’s holy, and cloisterous. 

I’d preach sermons, mostly in German,

I’d make the world look much rosier,

And I’d be a fighter, wearing my mitre,

My alb, my robes and a crozier. 

I’d put handles on liturgical candles,

There’d be a new hymn-book and a psalter.

I’d be among the throng at Evensong,

As I walked up the nave to the altar. 

There’d be preaching and bible teaching,

Dawkins and Hitchins would soon see,

That I’d be a force to be reckoned with,

If I was to lead out the C of E. 

The sceptics would be dyspeptic,

My message would become caustic,

As I put to flight the disbeliever,

The atheist, and the agnostic. 

I’d be a leopard, if I was the shepherd,

Of the faithful, as they quietly prayed.

There’d be no consternation at my confirmation,

And the great organ merrily played.

I wouldn’t be nervous, at Morning Service.

Schism and heresy won’t be ignored

Go hell for leather, as we all say together,

“Andy for Archbishop – and Praise The Lord!”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2012