John Betjeman.  Indoor Games Near Newbury.

John Betjeman. Indoor Games Near Newbury.

Author: Poetry from the Jungle from The Ceylon Press January 19, 2025 Duration: 3:19

In among the silver birches,
Winding ways of tarmac wander
And the signs to Bussock Bottom,
Tussock Wood and Windy Break.
Gabled lodges, tile-hung churches
Catch the lights of our Lagonda
As we drive to Wendy’s party,
Lemon curd and Christmas cake

Rich the makes of motor whirring
Past the pine plantation purring
Come up Hupmobile Delage.
Short the way our chauffeurs travel
Crunching over private gravel,
Each from out his warm garage.

O but Wendy, when the carpet
Yielded to my indoor pumps.
There you stood, your gold hair streaming,
Handsome in the hall light gleaming
There you looked and there you led me
Off into the game of Clumps.

Then the new Victrola playing;
And your funny uncle saying
"Choose your partners for a foxtrot.
Dance until it's tea o'clock
Come on young 'uns, foot it feetly."
Was it chance that paired us neatly?
I who loved you so completely.
You who pressed me closely to you,
Hard against your party frock.

"Meet me when you've finished eating."
So we met and no one found us.
O that dark and furry cupboard,
While the rest played hide-and-seek.
Holding hands our two hearts beating.
In the bedroom silence round us
Holding hands and hardly hearing
Sudden footstep, thud and shriek

Love that lay too deep for kissing.
"Where is Wendy? Wendy's missing."
Love so pure it had to end.
Love so strong that I was frightened
When you gripped my fingers tight.
And hugging, whispered "I'm your friend."

Goodbye Wendy. Send the fairies,
Pinewood elf and larch tree gnome.
Spingle-spangled stars are peeping
At the lush Lagonda creeping
Down the winding ways of tarmac
To the leaded lights of home.

There among the silver birches,
All the bells of all the churches
Sounded in the bath-waste running
Out into the frosty air.
Wendy speeded my undressing.
Wendy is the sheet's caressing
Wendy bending gives a blessing.
Holds me as I drift to dreamland
Safe inside my slumber wear.


There's a particular magic in the poem that almost made it, the one that lingers just outside the canonical spotlight. 101 Exiles from The Ceylon Press is a quiet space dedicated to those verses. Each episode of this Poetry from the Jungle podcast is a curated listening experience, focusing on a single, remarkable work by an acclaimed poet that, for whatever reason, never quite cracked the ubiquitous "top 100" lists. You won't find grand introductions or academic dissections here. Instead, the focus is on the language itself-the rhythm, the imagery, the quiet turn of phrase that deserves a moment of undivided attention. It's for anyone who believes the most resonant lines are sometimes found in the margins, offering a different kind of discovery in the world of verse. This podcast provides a sanctuary for those exiled poems, letting them speak for themselves directly to the listener.
Author: Language: English Episodes: 32

101 Exiles
Podcast Episodes
Philip Larkin.  Aubade. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:52
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare. In time the curtain-edges will grow light. Till then I see what’s really always there: Unresting death, a whole day nearer now, Maki…
C. P. Cavafy.  Ionian. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:12
Just because we've torn their statues down,and cast them from their temples,doesn't for a moment mean the gods are dead.Land of Ionia, they love you yet,their spirits still remember you.When an August morning breaks upon…
Philip Larkin.   Going, Going. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:00
I thought it would last my time—The sense that, beyond the town,There would always be fields and farms,Where the village louts could climbSuch trees as were not cut down;I knew there’d be false alarms In the papers about…
John Betjeman.  In Westminster Abbey. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:26
Let me take this other glove offAs the vox humana swells,And the beauteous fields of EdenBask beneath the Abbey bells.Here, where England's statesmen lie,Listen to a lady's cry.Gracious Lord, oh bomb the Germans,Spare th…
Philip Larkin.  The Trees. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:20
The trees are coming into leafLike something almost being said;The recent buds relax and spread,Their greenness is a kind of grief.Is it that they are born againAnd we grow old? No, they die too,Their yearly trick of loo…
John Betjeman.  Inexpensive Progress. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:30
Encase your legs in nylons,Bestride your hills with pylonsO age without a soul;Away with gentle willowsAnd all the elmy billowsThat through your valleys roll.Let's say goodbye to hedgesAnd roads with grassy edgesAnd wind…
C. P. Cavafy.  Waiting For The Barbarians. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 2:33
What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum? The barbarians are due here today.Why isn’t anything going on in the senate?Why are the senators sitting there without legislating? Because the barbarians are coming today…
Philip Larkin.  Born Yesterday. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:33
Tightly-folded bud,I have wished you somethingNone of the others would:Not the usual stuffAbout being beautiful,Or running off a springOf innocence and love —They will all wish you that,And should it prove possible,Well,…
Rupert Brooke.  The Hill. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 1:43
Breathless, we flung us on the windy hill,Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.You said, "Through glory and ecstasy we pass;Wind, sun, and earth remain, the birds sing still,When we are old, are old. . . ." "A…
Hilaire Belloc.  John Vavasour de Quentin Jones. [not-audio_url] [/not-audio_url]

Duration: 3:51
John Vavasour de Quentin Joneswas very fond of throwing stoneslike many of the upper classhe loved the sound of breaking glass( a line I stole with subtle daringfrom Wing Commander Maurice Baring)