Tunnelling

Tunnelling

The journey down to Devon and Cornwall,

In the Summer wasn’t always great fun -

Sitting in traffic-jams and congestion,

Whilst travelling down to the sun.

But there were sometimes compensations,

Like Wiltshire’s rolling scenery to see:

Everywhere grand archaeology,

During standstills on the A303.

And nowhere more pre-historic,

Could you think of by the side of that road,

Than the formation known as Stonehenge,

Built by some chaps covered in blue woad.

It dominates the very landscape,

The greatest monument for miles around:

A Bronze-Age millennial survivor,

No finer inspiration to be found.

They’ve stood there for so many centuries,

Weathered sarsens of an age Neolithic,

The cross-lintels and the earthworks,

Whose meaning has passed into the mythic.

But now the bureaucrats have got a hold,

And in a mass of red tape it’s to be bound,

Not satisfied with the Visitor Centre,

Everything’s heading under the ground.

Yes, they’re gonna build a big tunnel,

To whisk through the traffic in the main,

Beneath the wonderful countryside,

Missing the glory of Salisbury Plain.

They’ll be watching the route on their sat-navs,

And yakking away on their hands-free phones,

Whilst hurtling under what’s interesting,

The majesty of those standing stones.

But that’s what happens with progress,

It’s a great pity, and I’m willing to bet,

It’s not about myths, or megaliths,
But “are we nearly there yet?”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2019