I've only recently joined Facebook, and then only because a fiend (lovely typo there - he's actually an ordained minister), or rather a friend, asked me to become a 'Friend'. A few days later I had a similar request from someone who remembered me from our days in the same year at Penzance Grammar School, or Humphry Davy Grammar School, as it became in about 1960. The line in the school song about being linked by 'memory's chain', a metaphor which has opposing connotations, certainly applies here, and for positive reasons in this case.
On a wider scale, although I haven't lived in Cornwall for getting on for 50 years, I find, perhaps unsurprisingly, that much of what I think and write is strongly affected by Kernow. This is not the picture-postcard cliche of miles of golden sand and rugged cliffs beloved of holiday companies, although the image is borne out by part of the reality, but a much more varied and contradictory place.
This week I have a new poem which, although not strictly autobiographical, does reflect one part of my experience. I realise that there are so many others in this category.
AT PADDINGTON
Forty minutes late
After a week in the west,
And fancying a snack
Before he took the tube,
He approached the gaudy kiosk
With its garish, corny pastiche
Of harbours and boats he knew,
Placed his order, paid,
Asked the Polish girl,
Pointing over her shoulder,
If she'd ever been down there
(Tired, she just shook her head),
Took his food and drink
And sat at an unsteady table,
Ignoring the pushy pigeons.
He sipped, then took a bite
And tasted salt on his tongue
As Brunel's echoing metal roof
Slid back, to reveal the sun
In a sky of wind-tossed gulls.
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