Barnabas Rhymes

BARNABAS RHYMES

JOHN WOOD.

Published by Woodavens Books at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 John Wood.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction and Words

In Irritation on being Disturbed by Noisy Churchmen

Write Something!

Church of St. Peter & St. Paul, Weobley

Kate’s Funeral, Weobley

Herefordshire and the West Country

Slow-moving Hereford

The Cotswold Line, October

Returning Home from an Evening Event in London

An Ageing Herefordshire Lad

Photographing Sunflowers grown for the Pheasants

Behind Village Events are the Femmes Fete-alls

October Onwards

To add Fluoride or Not?

Solidly Built

A Hoot of Hate or my Unfavourite Things

Home and Hearth

Morning’s First Love

Prospects are so Changeable

Missing from the Top Drawer

Tiger Worms, or Composting for Beginners

Hoping for Inspiration from the Computer

Home Sweet Home

Squirrel

Youth and Love and all that

Early School

But Somewhat Later – William’s Lament

The First Dance

Adolescence

Basic Philosophy

Night Out

Fleeting Encounter

A Happier Ending

Hero and Leander

The Conductor’s Tale – In Love with the First Violin

Woman!

Strife and Worse

A Miracle on the Western Front

Prayer

Listening

Sport

The Par Hole

Snow

World Cup Week

A School Sport – the Non-Boxer’s View

Feeling Iffy

The Heads on a Small Yacht

Home Port

While on Another Board – Strife Personified

Inland in a Norwegian Winter

Life can be Very Hard

Mother and Son

Recipe for a New Mother

Flight of the Empress

Culture and Science

Sfumato and the Mona Lisa

A Mixed-up Lady

All Life is Messages

Anonymous Critic at the Globe

A Real Discovery

An Easy Riddle

The Hedge-Layer’s Tale

Dinosaur He Say

John Snow

Character Flaws

Obsessions

Bridesmaid’s Smiles

Fear Walking into a Wood on a Winter Night

The Golf Captain and His Lady

Ghosts – Now You See Them, Now You Don’t

The Gambler’s Final Fling

Age and Experience lead to Cynicism

Management Numbers or the Hospital Telephone Book

Beauty in the City – the Bottom Line

Bankers – March 2009

Down the Strand

The Old School

Financial Transparency – Windows in the Square Mile

Sky-Diving

An Old Shopper

Avarice

Breakfasts after College Reunions

Six Songs to Explain a Quango

Happenings once Current

Limericks after the 2005 Election

Gleneagles, 2005

Parting

Parting Again

Last Holiday Night

In Memoriam

An Absent Friend

A Good Innings, Some Said

Older Age

Rag Bag

Winter Snow – Limericks

A Tricky Matter to Decide

Sad Safari Tale

Haikus

Sonnetomania

An Examination Taken in Middle Life

A Legal Discussion – Many Words – How Much Sense?

The Student of English Takes a Country Walk with his Girl.

An Illegal Immigrant’s Life

Further Loose Limericks

Dormington

Autumn Friends

An Old American Organ in December

Christmas Eve

May 05 – Dormington Churchyard

Bartestree Fete – 2009

Family Stories and Recollections

Mountain Walk

Great Uncle George

Winifred at Lyme View

In the Council Chamber

January 2000

70s

Fishing Today

For Angus – Sept 09

Gold is

Penguins - Tom

Theatre at Bath

BWoo

October 1999

Holidays

The Brown Pelican of Florida

The Shuttle Leaves from Florida – 04.00 hours

Iceland Water

First Foss

At the Althing, Iceland – 999

Thorsmork

The Great Skua – Now and Then

Thanks to Maria and Helgi – Iceland

Tallinn – Baltic Honeypot

Thanks to Kath or Carry On Up the Madeira Picos

Flight Delayed – A Long Farewell to Greece

Breeze in the Gulf of Corinth

Turkish Flotilla

Lipari

Declamations

The Rock of Gibraltar

To Minorca Mary - Ramblers’ Leader – Birds and Flowers

Bush Rhymes from Brisbane

The Karen Village Hut in Northern Thailand

Crumpled High-Tension Pylons between Eperney and Troyes

AOT – 2002

Spanish Inn – 2010

To the United Arab Emirates with Open University Geologists – 2001

The Gulf – 2007

The Beetle

Zanzibar Shore

The Turkish Pirate

Dark Night in the Med.

St. James’ Park

Up from the Tube after the London Bombings in July 2005

Gatwick

Introduction and Words

In the nineties I discovered Kate Jones’ writing group, and remained an appreciative member until her death. The class met one morning each week during term-time. For the first hour Kate would set a theme for us to write a short piece, or put together plans for a play or longer text, or perhaps discuss grammar or the nuts and bolts of writing. After coffee for another hour Kate would bring out homework we had given her previously and then read some of our homework to the class. Naturally each of us hoped that one of our efforts would be chosen. At the end of the morning she set the subject for next week’s homework.

These sessions were enormous fun. Over the years we all aged, just possibly matured, and our writing improved. But often homework was only started on the night before the class so offerings were brief, and perhaps a bit of doggerel or a pseudo-sonnet. Kate might choose it to read if it was short and she thought it might amuse the group. Many of the rhymes or ditties that follow were either homework or written during a class, and some are very short – scarcely more than snippets.

Words were Kate’s passion. She had a degree in English from Oxford University, and for many years was the editor and indeed wrote much of Young Writer – The Magazine for Children with Something to Say. She also published books for budding children authors. Some of her passion rubbed onto us:-

Words

A single thought, like love or fame or greed

Propels my pen to place upon the page

Words to express hot passion, or the need

To blow my trumpet, tell of hate or rage.

A single word, no frills but still bespoke,

Set wisely in a stanza makes it sing.

Another word - a puny punning joke

Will give the phrase a light or silly ring.

One single noun, or adjective, or verb

Can twist the meaning of a line of verse.

The tricky word requires a careful curb

For wit begets mistrust - there’s nothing worse!

The clearest single message - To be heard,

Always select a plain and honest word.

We usually met in St. Barnabas Church Hall in Hereford. For one term we shared the building with frail and elderly philosophers who were perfectly quiet and well-behaved, but one morning we were distracted by rowdy clergymen in the next room. Anything can provide the germ for a ditty.

In Irritation on being Disturbed by Noisy Churchmen

Canons to left of them, Canons to right of them

Into the clerical novels they ride -

Anthony Trollope, and also Joanna,

Plus Barbara Pym keep the genre supplied.

The cloisters are swirling with hot atmospherics,

Benches of Bishops with lusty young Vicars,

Pompous Archdeacons and Deans with hysterics,

Thoughts of preferment, the glimpse of white knickers.

The Bishop’s wife rules, getting fatter and fatter;

Gloomy young curates, repressed and morose.

Whatever the matter they intrigue and chatter -

Barchester Towers is the world in a close.

So what is the place of the Anglican empire -

Historical home for heirarchical males?

Is it truly a rock for salvation or hell-fire

Or mainly a quarry for clerical tales?

Rich in eccentrics, the Church is a Godsend -

Some zany or saintly, or lazy, or zealous.

Canons to left of them, Canons to right of them, -

Masses of models for many best-sellers!

During the summer break Kate sometimes arranged a writing reunion in the home of a member of the group. One sunny morning in a lovely garden led to –

Write something!

They drove to Eau Withington, Ron, Dot and Kate

Down a tiny thin lane, then they turned in the gate,

While the white house looked down in its Georgian way

On the writers who’d come to relive their Thursday.

In time they got settled, the sun brightly shone

And Kate said Write something on Eau Withington.

Then frowns and anxiety furrowed each brow

And they said We’ve forgotten – don’t really know how.

At that Kate grew stern and she raised her sweet voice

"Now look here, you slackers, you haven’t a choice

If you don’t buckle down I may give you a punch,

Or, worse, I’ll ask Ann to deny you the lunch."

So we all applied noses to grindstones and ink

And put pen to paper as quick as you blink.

The product of haste is a problem with rhyme,

But I think I’ve used up my available time.

(In the years I knew her I cannot imagine Kate punching anyone, but a word was needed to rhyme with lunch - scribbler’s licence.)

Another summer session was held in Weobley Church next door to Kate’s home where we tried to concoct something suitable.

Church of St. Peter and St. Paul, Weobley.

A hum of quiet chatter in the nave

Searching as others have for inspiration

Among these stones, these lists, each ancient grave,

Each pious monument or dedication.

The lists of dead – that war we still call Great -

Old vicars going back to Norman years.

These stones mark centuries of faith and fate

Of weddings, christenings, and tears.

Steep Weobley’s spire spears over Weobley town,

A landmark on the Tudor Village Trail,

Best seen from Wormsley Ridge when looking down

Set in its green rich prosperous farming vale.

Preserved and cherished by the faithful few –

(Much bigger congregations would be good)

Although