What Happened To Her England?
by Raymond Holt
An ex Cranleigh village Bobby
She liked the Hovis advert,
The sun would always shine
The vicar at the lynch-gate,
The landlord calling “Time.”
The bobbie on his bicycle,
Around her village green.
Gave a reassuring feeling,
But now is seldom seen.
The friendly village garage,
Who always checked her dipstick
And filled her tank with petrol,
As she put on her lipstick.
She liked old English restaurants,
Toasted tea cakes with her tea.
The waiter who held the door,
When she left at half past three.
Family favourites on a Sunday,
When eating her roast dinner.
Having been to morning service
And prayed for all the sinners.
She dreams of buying all her food
In friendly village stores.
But no she battles with the crowds
On a supermarket floor.
She remembers silent summer nights,
Gazing up at stars
And walking miles through bluebell woods,
Not hearing any cars.
And now she looks beyond me,
With disbelief and tears.
What happened to her England?
Those lost forever year.
LOOKING OVER MY SHOULDER
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