False Security

I remember the dread with which I at a quarter past four

Let go with a bang behind me our house front door

And, clutching a present for my dear little hostess tight,

Sailed out for the children’s party into the night

Or rather the gathering night. For still some boys

In the near municipal acres were making a noise

Shuffling in fallen leaves and shouting and whistling

And running past hedges of hawthorn, spikey and bristling.

And black in the oncoming darkness stood out the trees

And pink shone the ponds in the sunset ready to freeze

And all was still and ominous waiting for dark

And the keeper was ringing his closing bell in the park

And the arc lights started to fizzle and burst into mauve

As I climbed West Hill to the great big house in The Grove,

Where the children’s party was and the dear little hostess.

But halfway up stood the empty house where the ghost is

I crossed to the other side and under the arc

Made a rush for the next kind lamp-post out of the dark

And so to the next and the next till I reached the top

Where the Grove branched off to the left. Then ready to drop

I ran to the ironwork gateway of number seven

Secure at last on the lamplit fringe of Heaven.

Oh who can say how subtle and safe one feels

Shod in one’s children’s sandals from Daniel Neal’s,

Clad in one’s party clothes made of stuff from Heal’s?

And who can still one’s thrill at the candle shine

On cakes and ices and jelly and blackcurrant wine,

And the warm little feel of my hostess’s hand in mine?

Can I forget my delight at the conjuring show?

And wasn’t I proud that I was the last to go?

Too overexcited and pleased with myself to know

That the words I heard my hostess’s mother employ

To a guest departing, would ever diminish my joy,

I WONDER WHERE JULIA FOUND THAT STRANGE, RATHER COMMON LITTLE BOY?