Remembering Sir John Betjeman (1906 – 1984)
As we enter the year 2024 we note that forty years have passed since the death of the poet and broadcaster Sir John Betjeman. Appointed poet laureate of England in 1972 he was a veritable national treasure of the twentieth century.
Inevitably as the generation of Betjeman devotees grows older there will be less of us alive to celebrate his memory. His poems likely will not hold the same appeal to younger people. But for as long as it lasts there is resounding and abundant admiration for Sir John within the Cray 150 publishing community. The year 2024 also marks the tenth anniversary of the local (St Mary Cray) Croft Poetry Club, founded in 2014. It was evident from the very start that Sir John’s poetry is fondly loved by the membership of predominantly third-agers. His poems have been chosen frequently at recital times.
As we enter the year 2024 we note that forty years have passed since the death of the poet and broadcaster Sir John Betjeman. Appointed poet laureate of England in 1972 he was a veritable national treasure of the twentieth century.
Inevitably as the generation of Betjeman devotees grows older there will be less of us alive to celebrate his memory. His poems likely will not hold the same appeal to younger people. But for as long as it lasts there is resounding and abundant admiration for Sir John within the Cray 150 publishing community. The year 2024 also marks the tenth anniversary of the local (St Mary Cray) Croft Poetry Club, founded in 2014. It was evident from the very start that Sir John’s poetry is fondly loved by the membership of predominantly third-agers. His poems have been chosen frequently at recital times.
Sir John Betjeman in Orpington???
In the absence of any record that Sir John visited our locality of Orpington and the Crays it was in 2003 that our Betjeman in Orpington poem was published, imagining that if he had included us in one of his many radio or television travelogues around the UK, he might have reported thus:
John Betjeman in Orpington
Gigi at the Commodore; Kodakchrome in ‘fifty-eight;
The Civic Hall on Crofton Road with portico ornate;
Petts Wood: shrine of Bakelite; kitchens scrubbed with Zal;
Locksbottom: bathed in sodium lamps beside the hospital.
Shod at Aylings; Omo-white; a hundred workers wait
For bus to Morphy-Richards; or home: Davis Estate.
Jennifer, in Toni-perm, is brushing with S.R.,
Applying Miners make-up, for the Carlton Cinema.
Peter reads the Eagle: thinks his Dinky Toys are ‘triff;
Father reads the paper: likes Patricia Hornby-Smith;
Mother shops at Nicholson: asks if she can afford
The latest Ercol G-plan; wall-to-wall by Cyril Lord.
Stapley’s: ironmongers: sawdust floor and paraffin;
Kleen-e-ze or Cedars Laundry take the washing in;
Jellied veal from David Greig, delivered by Ford van;
Castrol, Esso Extra: Burton or Dunstonian.
O semis in the chalet style: built by William Brise;
O Noel Rees: the Tudorbethan spendour of Knoll Rise;
O Maxwell Arms: Dry Fly for me and Charringtons for you;
O Orpington! Suburbia! The Golden Arrow thunders through.
In the absence of any record that Sir John visited our locality of Orpington and the Crays it was in 2003 that our Betjeman in Orpington poem was published, imagining that if he had included us in one of his many radio or television travelogues around the UK, he might have reported thus:
John Betjeman in Orpington
Gigi at the Commodore; Kodakchrome in ‘fifty-eight;
The Civic Hall on Crofton Road with portico ornate;
Petts Wood: shrine of Bakelite; kitchens scrubbed with Zal;
Locksbottom: bathed in sodium lamps beside the hospital.
Shod at Aylings; Omo-white; a hundred workers wait
For bus to Morphy-Richards; or home: Davis Estate.
Jennifer, in Toni-perm, is brushing with S.R.,
Applying Miners make-up, for the Carlton Cinema.
Peter reads the Eagle: thinks his Dinky Toys are ‘triff;
Father reads the paper: likes Patricia Hornby-Smith;
Mother shops at Nicholson: asks if she can afford
The latest Ercol G-plan; wall-to-wall by Cyril Lord.
Stapley’s: ironmongers: sawdust floor and paraffin;
Kleen-e-ze or Cedars Laundry take the washing in;
Jellied veal from David Greig, delivered by Ford van;
Castrol, Esso Extra: Burton or Dunstonian.
O semis in the chalet style: built by William Brise;
O Noel Rees: the Tudorbethan spendour of Knoll Rise;
O Maxwell Arms: Dry Fly for me and Charringtons for you;
O Orpington! Suburbia! The Golden Arrow thunders through.
We can rejoice, surely, that Sir John’s love of suburbia reflected kindly on towns like Orpington. Some writers chose to scoff at the ordinariness and dreariness of towns like Orpington but Sir John was an enthusiastic champion of suburbia: his poems and television documentaries were love-songs to chintzy-chintzy cheeriness and geranium-beds for the lawn. In our gratitude we penned another poem for him in 2021:
Sir John Betjeman
I’ve lost count of the times that his humorous rhymes
Have entered my head and I’ve wanted it said
That I’m witnessing something he once described:
The stadium at Wembley; a Metro-Land ride;
The pavements of Chelsea; crowds at the Palace;
Honey-haired ladies named Lilian and Alice;
Signposts to Hertfordshire; buildings in Bath;
Crumpets and tea by the ingle-nook hearth.
Human nature he understood never will change,
And so in his poems you’ll meet a whole range
Of snoopers and snobs, pen-pushers, phonies,
Golfers and cricketers, girls riding ponies,
Teachers and preachers and bores met in bars.
But a startling thing is the absence of cars
In the films where he roved around England post-war
And recorded in blank verse the scenes that he saw.
Sir John Betjeman
I’ve lost count of the times that his humorous rhymes
Have entered my head and I’ve wanted it said
That I’m witnessing something he once described:
The stadium at Wembley; a Metro-Land ride;
The pavements of Chelsea; crowds at the Palace;
Honey-haired ladies named Lilian and Alice;
Signposts to Hertfordshire; buildings in Bath;
Crumpets and tea by the ingle-nook hearth.
Human nature he understood never will change,
And so in his poems you’ll meet a whole range
Of snoopers and snobs, pen-pushers, phonies,
Golfers and cricketers, girls riding ponies,
Teachers and preachers and bores met in bars.
But a startling thing is the absence of cars
In the films where he roved around England post-war
And recorded in blank verse the scenes that he saw.