This poem was written for the 70th birthday celebration of a former farmer and cricket fanatic.
By Tom May!
The world of Peter Wakelin
Is a world that we once knew
When men 'played up and played the game'
And bowlers never threw.
Of sleepy summer Sundays spent,
Out on the village green
Of leather and of willow
On turf of Algerine.
Where bees drone in the outfield
And whites are always worn
Of tea in the pavillion
Of poppies in the corn.
Polite applause and parasols
And skies of Cambridge blue
On an English day, on an English field
In an England that we knew.
***
In the world of Peter Wakelin
Are farms he farmed with care
Strawberry fields and milk in churns
And apple blossomed air.
When by the leaning lychgate,
As church warden he would stand
While steeple bells rang clear and cold
Across the sacred land.
Grandchildren at summer fetes
Sandcastles in the sand
A garden full of memories
In the shadow of Gods hand.
The orchard and the garden
Grow as they used to do
In an English farmers haven
In an England that we knew.
***
The world of Peter Wakelin
is one that some forget
Of dog and cap and country walks
And secret badger setts.
Of ginger wine and whiskey
Newspapers and a chair
The Archers on the radio
With 'time to stand and stare'
Three score and ten years over
Three score and ten years past,
As the Autumn sun shines gently
On reflections of the past.
And the Autumn sun shines gently
On all the runs he ran
In the truly English twilight
Of an English gentle man.
TOM MAY
For anyone interested, I put a photograph of Tom on Instagram
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