My dad was doing some work for an elderly lady back home in Cambridgeshire, when he mentioned that I now lived in Malvern. She gave him this poem that she had written, based on a visit she made here as a young girl: Sometime in the 1940s – A day in Malvern By Angela Haines (nee Bourne) The Malvern Hills – a summer’s day Now, many years ago When I was but a youngster Say, nine or ten, or so. I’d gone there with my mum and Mrs Sankey, just a friend Who’d had an operation And now was on the mend Those lovely hills, so tall and steep So clearly Malvern’s pride We took the zig-zag path And ventured slowly up the side We reached the top, beheld the views Magnificent to see ‘Till came the time for our descent My mum, her friend and me. Though steep the sides, the paths were safe Zigzagging, curving, but For me, then so adventurous I found this great short-cut. A dusty path with stony ground Joined one path to another ‘Twas very steep, but faster, and This way I’d beat my mother! A simple trip was all it took To start my feet to run. I gathered speed, with arms outstretched My “journey” had begun. The horror as I couldn’t stop The clouds of dust behind. Two people in the distance Lieing closely, arms entwined. This courting couple languished At the bottom, in the grass Oblivious of what would In a moment come to pass! How could they guess their passions Would be shattered by a bid To stop the speedy passage Of a supersonic kid! My mother screaming “stop her Stop her, stop her” from the top The couple in their own world And then me, who couldn’t stop The penny dropped, I saw the man Quick scramble to his feet S’pose thinking “this is all I need To make my day complete” Towards each other, arms outstretched Raced me and this poor lad. We must have made the sort of scene Oft witnessed in an “ad” But, sad to say, I fell before He caught me, at his feet. The two of us in clouds of dust Now, what a way to meet. I was torn to ribbons And my pretty dress was too. Both of us were thick in dust, His suit had looked like new! We left him, brushing at his clothes, It seemed, without success. That Malvern dust was sticky stuff Clung fast to suit and dress. I remember standing in the queue To catch the bus home, and How pitiful I must have looked From starting off so grand. I had gone out in my best dress Now in tatters from my fall But of all my days at Malvern That’s the one that I recall!
Posted on: Sat, 08 Mar 2014 13:46:29 +0000
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