That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou see’st the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west;
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death’s second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou see’st the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

   This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
   To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

William Shakespeare (Sonnet 73)

National Poetry Day is on 4th October 2018 and Steve sent me a poem from a book called “The Abingdon Fire service” 1871 – 1945.” Steve says the book is full of amazing stuff about the town and much of the fire brigades activities in the second world war.

In Nineteen Hundred and Thirty Eight,
‘Twas felt old England’s life was at stake,
And so, in answer to the old Chiefs call,
Some local gallants, about forty in all,
Besieged the Station in Bury Street,
Clean chins, clean boots, and clothes all neat,
To offer their services to the crown
As well as this old English town.

Auxiliary firemen, he said you will be,
If after twenty drills you are he
Who knows all the workings of hydrant and hose
Of pumps and ropes, yes don’t forget those,
Like little boys with some new toy,
We donned our tunics and, oh boy!
Constantly drilling mostly in the dark,
Little thinking ’twas more than a lark …

Then it came; this was it, bombers galore,
The battle of Britain off Dover’s shores,
And then every night for hours on end
We stood by for duty at the town’s three ends,
Three crews, three pumps which were just the ticket
While others the Town Hall and Thames Street did picket,
Bemoaning the watch on the eerie Town Hall,
pdf attached if you want to read it All…

(All Rights Reserved to BEN and the AFS book.)

To treat thus a Maiden’s a shame and disgrace;
‘Twas vile to desert her – unfeeling and base;
Yet, what but such conduct could any one hope;
(Not forgiven, I’m sure, would it be by the Pope)
From one, who by evidence clear it is shown,
Was really possessed of THE HEART OF A STONE.

Written in Court at Abingdon Assizes (Abingdon County Hall Sessions Hall) circa 1823, during the trial of a breach of promise of marriage.

Thursday 8 October 2015 is National Poetry Day. The day is a chance to break with the tyranny of prose by sharing poetry with the hashtag #nationalpoetryday.