Friday Fiction: Expatriates of England

EXPATRIATES OF ENGLAND

 

We are expatriates of England,

Though we were never there.

We long for English hills and dales;

We pine for English air.

 

We speak of stands of magic woods

And talk of ancient kings,

Of tea, and toast, and old lamp posts,

Of stars, and faery things.

 

Though realists say we long

For a land that never was,

As far away as Middle-earth,

As fabled now as Oz,

 

Mere words cannot kill our hope.

We still stand staunch and strong,

And dream our dreams of England,

And sing of it in songs.

 

-   The Broadsheet, 1985

 

“It was only a shadow or copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here: just as our own world, England and all, is only a shadow or copy of something in Aslan’s real world.” – The Last Battle, C. S. Lewis

At the time I wrote this poem, I was more concerned with the industrialization and modernization of the 'green and pleasant land.' Now I'm also concerned with its deculturization, the loss of its tweedy and stodgy charm. Harrumph. I must admit the mention of Oz (characteristically American) was rather jarring, but I needed the rhyme.

'Here, the intersection of the timeless moment/ Is England and nowhere. Never and always.' -Little Gidding, T. S. Eliot