No.46

JOHN BETJEMAN - Poet, essayist and broadcaster was born on 28th August 1906 near Highgate, London. He had a great love for all things Victorian and during his life did much to encourage interest in the preservation of fine architecture.  In 1969 he was knighted and he became Poet Laureate in 1972.

It appears that his childhood was a lonely one - in fact his only friend seems to have been his teddy bear Archibald.

This is a short extract from his blank verse autobiography "Summoned by  Bells"  (In the first line, the reference is to the 1914-18 war)

Safe were those evenings of the pre-war world

When firelight shone on green linoleum;

I heard the church bells hollowing out the sky,

Deep beyond deep, like never-ending stars,

And turned to Archibald, my safe old bear,

Whose woollen eyes looked sad or glad at me,

Whose ample forehead I could wet with tears,

Whose half-moon ears received my confidence,

Who made me laugh, who never let me down.

I used to wait for hours to see him move,

Convinced that he could breathe. One dreadful day

They hid him from me as a punishment:

Sometimes the desolation of that loss

Comes back to me and I must go upstairs

To see him in the sawdust, so to speak,

Safe and returned to his idolator.

John Betjeman died on 19th May 1984 at his home in Trebetheric, Cornwall and was buried at nearby St.Enodoc's Church.

"Summoned by Bells" was published in 1960 by John Murray and a later edition with illustrations by Hugh Casson was published by Murray in 1989.

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This is Dove Cottage, Grasmere where William Wordsworth lived with his sister.

Wordsworth wrote this poem just before they were leaving home for a few months.

Sweet Garden-orchard! of all spots that are

The loveliest surely man hath ever found.

Farewell! we leave thee to heaven's peaceful care.

Thee and the cottage which thou dost surround -

Dear Spot! whom we have watched with tender heed,

Bringing thee chosen plants and blossoms blown

Among the distant mountains, flower and weed

Which thou hast taken to thee as thy own -

O happy Garden! loved for hours of sleep,

O quiet Garden! loved for waking hours.

For soft half-slumbers that did gently steep

Our spirits, carrying with them dreams of flowers -

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