Where is this England?

 

Where is this England?
Is it at Westminster
Where politicians talk amongst themselves but not to us?
Where people think that red’s the only colour for a bus
And metro men and women fence and fuss
Chattering about the media, the EEC
Whilst news is endlessly distorted by the BBC
…or is it somewhere else?

Is it at Chagford
Nestling, moorside, grey-stoned, with its trickling stream?
Where no-one watches SKY and people dare to dream
Where old and young get on it seems
And curtains twitch for all to see
Whilst watching Morse on ITV
…or is it somewhere else?

Is it at Sandwich
Dover, Hastings, Hythe or Romney?
Where sea meets land; you’ll meet all sorts
In knotted hanky hats and shorts
Squatting, digging in the sands
Eating chips with greasy hands
…or is it somewhere else?

Is it at Leeds or Bradford
Birmingham, Croydon, where kids burn shops
Get drunk, wear vests and tiny tops?
Where hope no longer springs eternal
And police, too scared to tread the beat
Fill in their forms, put up their feet
or is it somewhere else?

Is it easier to find
By dredging the recesses of our mind?
The unravelling of fairytales, not things we know
The imaging of poets from another time
A tapestry of misconceptions
Spun from countless vague perceptions
… or is it somewhere else?

Is it in our hearts and souls
This belief that good was here?  Decency, fair play
Concern for fellow men, we’d hoped would stay
And if it was, then all is clear
You’ll find this England close to home
And, whilst searching, be relieved to know…
…you’re not alone.

PIP BURLEY, JANUARY 2013

Tower Bridge London