Shannon
Thank you for your comments on my previous post about Shannon Matthews, the nine-year-old from the deeply dodgy family in Dewsbury who was found alive, twenty-four days after being abducted.
One reason I feel so strongly about the tragedy of her life and so many others like it, is that I used to teach very many children from similar backgrounds.
Here's still, for me, the best poem about it all: it's by Charles Causley and it was written over half a century ago but is still fresh and relevant as ever, which is a shame. Wouldn't it be great if we could say there aren't boys like him any more?
Most children now read this poem at school. I expect Shannon Matthews will read it too, when she's a bit older. I wonder what she'll make of it.
Timothy Winters
'Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football-pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.
His belly is white, his neck is dark,
And his hair is an exclamation-mark.
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow.
When teacher talks he won't hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the pattern off his plate
And he's not even heard of the Welfare State.
Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren't boys like him any more.
Old Man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier,
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin
And Timothy's dosed with an aspirin.
The welfare worker lies awake
But the law's as tricky as a ten-foot snake,
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up.
At Morning Prayers the Master helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars "Amen!"
So come one angel, come on ten
Timothy Winters says "Amen
Amen amen amen amen."
Timothy Winters, Lord. Amen
One reason I feel so strongly about the tragedy of her life and so many others like it, is that I used to teach very many children from similar backgrounds.
Here's still, for me, the best poem about it all: it's by Charles Causley and it was written over half a century ago but is still fresh and relevant as ever, which is a shame. Wouldn't it be great if we could say there aren't boys like him any more?
Most children now read this poem at school. I expect Shannon Matthews will read it too, when she's a bit older. I wonder what she'll make of it.
Timothy Winters
'Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football-pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.
His belly is white, his neck is dark,
And his hair is an exclamation-mark.
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow.
When teacher talks he won't hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the pattern off his plate
And he's not even heard of the Welfare State.
Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren't boys like him any more.
Old Man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier,
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin
And Timothy's dosed with an aspirin.
The welfare worker lies awake
But the law's as tricky as a ten-foot snake,
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up.
At Morning Prayers the Master helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars "Amen!"
So come one angel, come on ten
Timothy Winters says "Amen
Amen amen amen amen."
Timothy Winters, Lord. Amen
posted by Daphne at 2:44 pm
4 Comments:
Brilliant poem, guarenteed to get goose pimples on the back of even the hardest adolescent. But I must take Mr Causley to task on one thing: helves?
The only definition I can come up with is: 1. helve, n. - the handle of an axe or hatchet, from the Old English: helfe or hielfe
or 2. helve, vt. to furnish with a helve.
Either way, he shouldn't have been doing it at morning prayers I feel.
I remember that from my own school days. Sadly, there are still many children around like him, except that it's not always the physical deprivations these days.
oops - guaranteed
from the Old French, Guarant - to stick a handle on something...
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