Poetry

Epic and Autobiographical (A Versified Finale) An Autobiographical Narrative: 1960s 3

by Carl Halling
08/30/14
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A Perfectly Foolish Young Man I Wanted Part Two Book Five Epic and Autobiographical (A Versified Finale) An Autobiographical Narrative: 1960s 3

An Autobiographical Narrative: 1960s

In September 1968,

While still only 12 years old,

I became a Naval Cadet

at the Nautical College,

Welbourne,

Situated then as now

In the Royal County

Of Berkshire.

Which may have made me

The youngest and unlikeliest

Serving officer

In the entire Royal Navy,

If only for a very, very short time.

The Four Precious Years (I Spent at Welbourne)

My third and final school

Was the former Nautical College, Welbourne,

Where at still only twelve years old

I became the youngest kid in the college,

And an official serving officer

In Britain's Royal Naval Reserve.

Founded at the height of the British Empire,

Welbourne still possessed her original title in '68,

while her headmaster,

A serving officer in the Royal Navy

For some quarter of a century,

Wore his uniform at all times.

However, in '69,

She was given the name Welbourne College,

While the boys retained their officer status,

And naval discipline continued to be enforced,

With Welbourne serving both

As a military college

And traditional English boarding school.

The Welbourne I knew

Had strong links to the Church of England,

And so was marked by regular

If not daily classes

In what was known as Divinity,

Morning parade ground prayers,

Evening prayers,

And compulsory chapel

On Sunday morning.

Later in life, I felt grateful to her

For the values she'd instilled in me

If only unconsciously, even though,

By the time I joined Welbourne,

These were under siege as never before

By the so-called Counterculture.

And in the early 2010s,

I'd insist if I possessed

A single quality that might be termed noble,

Such as patience, or self-mastery

Or consideration of the needs of other people,

Then I'm at least partially indebted

For such a wonderful blessing

To the four precious years I spent at Welbourne.

An Autobiographical Narrative: 1960s

For all the Beatniks of SF consists of

Edited and versified extracts

From one of my earliest

Existent pieces of fictional writing.

Dating at an estimate from about 1970,

It reflects the spirit of the times,

Even though it's been sanitised

For publication.

In the years immediately following

The revolutionary events of '68,

I was deeply in sympathy

With the West's prevailing

Adversary Culture

Or Alternative Society

Which is very much not the case today.

And my attitude is dictated

Not by increasing maturity,

But by my Christian beliefs,

Without which I might

Be an ageing hipster by now,

Blithely festooned

With ostentatious symbols of revolt.

For all the Beatniks of San Francisco

Shirley Brown was a very beautiful girl,

And her brunette hair

Hung down her back

And as the wind blew thru the window,

It waved around. It waved around.

She was making sandwiches,

And was packing them with fruit,

And two massive bars of fruit

And nut chocolate.

She lit a cigarette, picked up the basket,

And with a nod of her head,

Waved her hair backwards

And walked out the back door

Into the alley where,

Propped up against a fence

Was a blue mini-moped.

She mounted the bike,

And with a little trouble, started it.

And the rider made a sudden jump

As a horn blew behind her,

And a leather jacketed youth

Sped by on a butterfly motor-cycle.

People turned away

And the music blared on

And the youths talked on.

Then, a park keeper came

But the youths took no notice.

"What are you kids doing?"

The keeper shouted,

"I've had complaints from all over,

Clear off, wilya,

This is a park,

Not a meeting place

For all the Beatniks in San Francisco."

John Hemmings started dancing:

"Cool it, grandpa, get on,

Get going, don't bug me!"

The kids had gone too far

And they knew it.

Some of them turned away,

As the radio blared even louder,

Litter was scattered everywhere.

"I ain't chicken of dying,"

John Hemmings then said,

"We've got to go on,

ALL RIGHT! Who are the crumbs

Who want to chicken out at this point?

Just take your bikes and go.

We're free people now.

Nothing can stop us,

We'll rule the streets,

The young people will triumph."

He was perspiring wildly

And his black hair

Hung down his back.

It waved around. It waved around.