The girl from Nottingham

The girl from Nottingham

With her flattened vowels

That speak of ancient legends

Written in the blood

Of indentured men and women

Perpetuating myths of ancient Avalon

The spirit of Albion

Freedom fighters in Lincoln green

The levellers truly levelled by

Cromwell’s new lean machine

A model army that never knew

The meaning of tin soldiers

How different we would be

Had we abandoned the spread

Of wild colonial boys

She laughed at this

As we would not be standing free

In this new world

Had the Lord Protector not held sway

She recounted tales of Edinburgh

A tour guide carried away

With the ecstasy of history

The mystery of the catacombs

What wonders life assumes

When engaged in conversation

For its own sake

What happened to gossip

And the spice of tittle-tattle

When rather than a scandal

We speak ill of ancient auguries

Hidden miseries

It is kinder on the soul

To reminisce without rancour

Than to hanker for a fight

As well I might agree

To pass the time this way

I will proclaim

It would certainly

Make the interaction

A damn sight easier

If I could just recall her name.