Friends on the Forum

The families of 27th Squadron were now well established on the forum, posting regular messages and copious amounts of poetry. Whilst none of those who dabbled in this sudden literary pursuit had received any formal tuition in the art of writing verse, there were some truly fine poems out there.

Unfortunately, I am currently unable to post work other than my own because I do not have the necessary permission from the various contributors. However, I am hoping that anyone reading this, who was connected with 27th Squadron and posted poems on the forum, will get in touch with me, in the hopes that we can re-create the ‘glory days’ of 2009.

The Forum

It started with just one or two, ladies on the forum,

But quickly rose to seven or eight and then they formed a quorum,

And now there’s more that thirty (who behave with great decorum)

Those literary ladies, who post poems on the forum.

You’ve got to love those ladies, ‘cos nothing seems to floor ‘em,

Their fellahs in Afghanistan really do adore ‘em,

And when they’re in the Chat Room, no way can you ignore them,

Those lovely, loopy ladies, who frolic on the forum.

Maggie Smart

A Casual Act of Cruelty

I am often asked what I write in my letters to a man on death row. Bill has impressed upon me that letters are a prisoner’s lifeline. They are excitedly awaited and the joy of receiving communication from a ‘living being’ is indescribable.

About two years ago, I sent Bill a letter regaling him with descriptions of what was going on in my garden and what was happening out here in suburban Surrey. It was an innocuous letter, one that recorded simple details of the greedy, fat robin; the thieving squirrel; the 1920′s gangster magpies with violin-cases tucked under their wings; the crows who strut around like Mick Jagger; the wood-pigeons who all look like Alfred Hitchcock, and so-on. The narrative was interspersed with twelve, small images of our garden, and its various inhabitants, embedded into the pages (4 to an A4 page). It made for an amusing letter. Bill would have loved it and would have immediately entered into the spirit, responding in kind and thus providing opportunities for future pleasurable exchanges of correspondence .

Two weeks later, I received notification from Bill that the letter had not been delivered to him but had been shredded in front of him, destroyed because it contained more than 10 photos, which is the maximum that can be included in a letter. He was offered the choice of paying for the ‘postage and administration’ so that the letter could be ‘returned to sender’ but he didn’t have enough money. So they destroyed it.

Bill was utterly crushed.

I was outraged. For pity’s sake, they weren’t even proper photos! More than anger though, was the profound sadness that I experienced on pondering ‘man’s inhumanity to man.’

Can you conceive a mindset that could entertain delivering such a dismissive act of casual cruelty?

Possibly not.

This Was Taking it Too Far ...

Apparently, he'd been given a 500 word essay for cutting assembly and hiding in the toilet block. The subject of the essay was 'Paper Holes.'

The worst of it was, as I learnt by word of mouth from my son, that I had been invited (ordered) to join in this pleasantry and produce a poetic masterpiece.

How many blasted things could you say about 'Paper Holes?'

PAPER HOLES

Holes in paper, paper holes,

Lacking in substance, devoid of souls,

Seldom, if ever, made by moles,

And less than often formed by voles.

Beloved by the master, who sometimes doles.

Out essays, entitled "Paper Holes".

Abhorred by the scholars, whose ultimate goals,

Have nothing to do with "Paper Holes"

Teachers and scholars, at separate poles,

All enacting different roles,

United only by "Paper Holes",

In essay-form, heaped, like coals,

On miserable little schoolboy shoals,

And "Therefore never send to know, for whom the (school) bell tolls,

It tolls for thee", O bearer, of the poem on paper holes.

Maggie Smart

With apologies to John Donne for borrowing his words

“and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”