Jan/Feb 2024

28
South Woodford Village Gazette
DD’s 63 rd Woodford Diary
Some South Woodford scribbles from DD,
our resident diarist and observer of all things
local. Illustrated by Evelyn Rowland
I
used to enjoy quiz nights. At the pub
possibly or as a fundraiser for a good
cause. I was quite useful if there was a
spelling round, but when it came to General
Knowledge, I often knew that I knew the
answer but somehow it refused to surface.
Rather disheartening. Perhaps you’ve been
there yourself. But this morning, early,
when I drew the curtains and saw the heavy
mist (I write these diaries several months
ahead), my memory turned up trumps: I
recalled Keat’s Ode to Autumn: “Season of
mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom
friend of the maturing sun.” An idea was
born; would I dare to act on it?
With the Gazette deadline approaching, I set
off after breakfast, wondering how many
funny looks I’d get in Sainsbury’s or Waitrose
if I invited people to recall any single line of
a poem they’d learnt, perhaps in childhood.
Michael put down his bag and gave me his
full attention. “Yesterday, upon the stair, I
met a man who wasn’t there. He wasn’t there
again today. Oh, how I wish he’d go away.”
Of course I could use his name, he said. “But
everyone knows me as The Post.” After some
thought, Mary volunteered just an opening
line: “I wandered lonely as a cloud.” Later on,
Millie was also ‘wandering lonely as a cloud’.
I thought how nice it would have been if
they could wander together. Rugby-playing
Richard was giving his godmother a hand with
her shopping. They both were intrigued and
happy to give it a go. “I know I ought to be
able to help,” she said. But Richard got there
(beautifully) before her: “How do I love thee?
Let me count the ways.” Pauline, aged 92,
needed a preparatory drink of water before
delivering her chosen lines, slowly and with
real feeling: “Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe
increase!), awoke one night from a deep
dream
of peace.”
I thought
that was it but
she was in full, passionate flow with a second
contribution: “Ye have robbed, said he, ye
have slaughtered and made an end!” I had
jotted down “he said” but “No,” said Pauline,
“It’s said he!” Barbara was instantly far away
from the tinned baked beans and tubes of
tomato puree and back in her primary school
days, at Christmas, I think: “Little King so fair
and sweet, see us gathered at thy feet. Be
Thou Monarch of our school. It shall prosper
neath thy rule.” In the next aisle, Ellie looked to
the future rather than to the past: “When I am
an old woman I shall wear purple, with
a red hat that doesn’t go and doesn’t
suit me. And I shall spend my pension
on brandy and summer gloves.”
I could almost see Darryl and Wendy
putting on their thinking caps:
Kipling’s poem to his son, entitled
If was his favourite. “If only I could
remember how it starts,” he said. (I
checked it out later. I expect he did
too: “If you can keep your head when
all about you are losing theirs…”)
Wendy recalled a moving line from a
poem often read at a funeral. “I have
only slipped away into the next room.”
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