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the great heave of recent war

lay back swallowed by the cold channel floor


beach out of bounds

with its lullabies of mines and barbed wire


marram grass saluted a past

like a bereavement


as we climbed from the train at Harwich

en route by Bedford coach to a week of levity


the boiler of the locomotive hissed in the rain

platform alight with puddles

ending at a scrubby foreshore.


The rest belongs to history:

toytown chalets, boating lake,

communal eating, Disney murals


a fix - all, diversions,

talent shows, shadows

of a pinched future.


As a family all stress forgotten

brothers in matching fair isle jumpers.


New horizons, disinfectant,

silly contests, the rest a dream.


A tiny photo curling is proof

surviving from a deck of receding cards.


◄ GOLF: THE REAL STORY part the second



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M.C. Newberry

Sat 14th Nov 2015 17:29

I "lived" the premise of these lines - thereby admitting to
a certain vintage age-wise! Some really resonate: the
hiss of the locomotive and the "platform alight with puddles" stuff for my own boyhood memories of a
country still suffering from the effects of world war,
when bombsites were playgrounds of dreams and we
were lured home by the promise of a fish and chip
supper and the early evening episode of a radio serial.

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