1976 was a hot summer. Hot and teenaged for me. My father died that year. Punk began to happen in rural England. I spent a lot of time in the water meadows.
We all went down to the water meadows,
Together in the bunk-off school sunshine,
When diving was dangerous
When the cows scarfed up the grass.
I nearly drowned that summer,
I was cut by broken glass
In the water by the wooden danger sign
The scar remains
On my ankle today.
In 1976 we dived into the black,
The deep drowning pool,
Where the ancient pike lived with other legends.
And ate all incautious children.
Later, in freezing December,
I looked in there for the lost boys
From the terrible concrete orphanage
That had been quietly closed.
The savage boys from savage Boys Home
That wasn’t a home at all.
Where the orphans ate old, raw meat,
And other legends.
