Ripon (1944)

Squat Cathedral at the city centre  
looks half finished from the race course  
the Ure at my back forded by  
a concrete ramp,for tanks  
there was a war,perhaps you know  
there always was,there always is.  
Riding from York,thirty miles and tired  
weed clogged canal,factory on the left  
final climb into the square  
aching legs and sweat;  
holiday begins today.  
Ure-Bank-Top across the bridge  
four if I remember. . . . .  
the station and the smoke,  
army lorries pass the house  
shake the terrace cottage,  
four rooms; toilet in the yard.  
Aunt Ada uncle Fred and Tom.  
Lampreys in the river,  
Laver and the Skell conjoined  
bird nests in the woods;  
never seemed to rain.  
Shunting in the sidings. . . . .  
broken crocks and frightened cows.  
rabbits in the cutting,  
shot by uncle Fred  
the airgun in the wardrobe,  
Sten gun by the hearth,  
ten bob made by blacksmiths,  
khaki uniform and webbing belt,  
out half the night.  
I can't remember bombs,  
Leeds a better target  
the army camp above the hill  
left in peace, hardly worth the trouble,  
great to be so unimportant.  
Nine each night,the Horn Blower  
three blasts in the square  
curled around his back,  
(The curfew never late)  
an honour so I'm told,  
every night and all for nowt  
and that a Yorkshireman!  
Uncle drives for NER  
a lorry not a train  
picks up eggs and bacon  
hides them in his snap.  
thinks I have n't noticed,  
scared police will call.  
Holiday's so short. . . .  
Back home again, bike in the shed  
my war effort complete. . . .  
eggs in the saddle bag.  
They hit the gas works Sunday,  
A Pole got them near Driffield !