VI. PICTURE
WRITING
In those days, said Hiawalpole,
“Lo! how all things fade and
perish!
From the memory of the members,
Fade away the great occasions,
The achievements of the sportsmen,
The adventures of the walkers,
All the wisdom of the Scrabblers,
All the craft of solo players,
All the marvellous Lakeside
concerts
Of the Findlays, Primes and
Perrys!
“Great times pass and are forgotten,
Goldman speaks; his words of
wisdom
Perish in the ears of Chapman,
Do not reach the Barnet stations
Where the Philistines are waiting,
Or the fastness of East Finchley,
(Mensa corpore non sano . . . ).
In the programmes of our Founders
Are no hints, no details given,
Who attended them we know not,
Only know they were our Founders.
From what streets they came, and
districts,
In what old ancestral tavern,
Be it beaver, Bell or Badger,
They did tipple, this we know not;
Only know they were our Founders.
One day Hiawalpole walking
On the hills of Hadley Common,
Pondering, musing on the common,
On the welfare of her members.
From her bag she took her colours,
Felt-tipped pens of different
colours.
On the smooth walls of a toilet
Painted many pithy figures,
Like unto the Cistern Chapel.
Flushed with pride she viewed the
figures,
Each depicting event-givers.
Eddie Bargery, the Mighty,
He the Dance-at-Hatfield giver,
With his belly thus projecting
To the four winds of theborough.
Everywhere the great beer spirit
Was the meaning of this symbol.
Franklin, Monica-the-Mighty,
She the outside-events maker,
At the Serpentine depicted,
With the Davis, she the Swimmer,
Very breasty, very crawly,
And the spirit of the freestyle
Was the meaning of this symbol.
Max-and-Norma drawn as counters
On a scrabble-board were painted,
Max white-haired and Norma darker;
Triple-worded, double-lettered,
The most faithful event-givers.
For eat-outs she drew a meat pie,
With a little mustard on it;
Smiling faces for the parties
And the Stella Lemos dances;
And for rain and cloudy weather,
Ron Higgs with his card games
evenings.
Footprints pointing towards a wigwam
Were a sign of invitation
To the Avenue of Princes;
Bloody hands with bats uplifted
Were a sign of table tennis:
Ping-pong players soft and simple.
September Song was written by Kurt Weill for a
Broadway show Knickerbocker Holiday in 1938.
Its bitter-sweet lyrics and the poignancy with which
it treats time's passage is well suited to this page.
It will forever be associated, in the memories of those
of us old enough to recall it, with the rasping voice of
Walter Huston (father of film director John Huston).
Thank you for the midi, Susan.