A Queen-besotted Anglophile,
I lived in Essex for a while,
a flowering county that would yield
the perfect village: Finchingfield.
An ancient graveyard breathing peace,
a village pond for ducks and geese,
three pubs where cronies meet by chance –
the Hart, The Green Man, and the Manse –
a Gothic church with Norman font:
what more could any tourist want?
There, as I drank the last brown ale
and watched across the Essex dale
a sunset like the Book of Kells,
the village ringers rang the bells.
How many years had I withstood
the truth that life, though brief, was good?
Life was the light that touched the weald
and rang the bells of Finchingfield,
bending a crescent smile on men
as “Plain Bob Major” pealed again.
The words “cheap grace” may come to mind,
but is there any other kind?
About the author
Gail White does her writing in Breaux Bridge, Louisiana. Most exotic travel adventure: taking part in a Hindu wedding in Hyderabad. Latest book: Easy Marks,…Read the full bio
Issue 04 · April 2009
Table of contents
- From the editors
- Two poems by Jacqueline Dee Parker
- Two poems by Sarah J. Sloat
- Two Poems by Priscilla Atkins
- Two Poems by Martin Ott
- Magdalene’s Manhattan
- Two Poems by Michael Bazzett
- Two poems by Lily Iona MacKenzie
- Four poems by Suzanne Parker
- Two poems by Leah Browning
- Three poems by Hali Sofala
- Public Interest
- Three poems by Heather Derr-Smith
- Euphoric in Essex
- Postcard Prose
- Travel Notes