ODE TO A DYING PUB

[Anent the resolution to rebuild the Hong Kong Club]

The Club, the Club, my local pub,

They mean to tear you down;

Another high monstrosity

Instead will grace this town.

For beauty is regarded as

No substitute for coin.

The Club, the Club, my local pub

Will never be the same,

The voting cast to kill the past

Enjoyed two-thirds acclaim,

For style and grace take second place

In Hong Kong’s money game.

They each arose and struck and pose

And said: “I love this place,

But when you say that I must pay

For it, that’s a disgrace,

And insults my philosophy,

I’d rather lose my face.”

For each man kills the thing he loves,

A greater poet said,

So we would choose our past to lose

And gain the cash instead.

Yes, each man kills the thing he loves,

And so my pub is dead.

Hong Kong, December 1979

This was written as a letter to and published by the South China Morning Post. 

Not exactly a parody but worthy, I think, of the passing nod to Oscar Wilde.

Above is the old building and below is the new.  John Betjeman, where were you when we needed you?  Not that you would have stood a chance in Hong Kong!