My Mum and Dad, in former camping days,
would pack their tent and drive away
to pitch in country fields both near and far -
me squatting in the back of Dad´s side-car
or catching pillion-flies at a lively canter
astride the ´Royal Enfield´ then the ‘Panther´.
The gear was stowed in a trailer towed behind.
out of site perhaps but never out of mind.
There was this Norfolk farm I vividly recall,
where the land was flat and elms grew tall,
where Dad obtained permission from the pair
who worked the farm to settle there.
And if you think a farm a weird place to stay
then let me add, it overlooked a sheltered bay.
The man was willing for a modest rent
to let us use his water, pitch our tent.
We had some lovely eggs from him as well
when Mum went off to ring the bell.
The strongest memory I still have
is of their extraordinary ‘lav´!
A double-seater for the farmer and his wife
side by side – cheek by cheek – for life!
A typical East Anglian outhouse made of brick
constructed over an echoing, gaping pit.
And I´ve never seen the woodwork neater
or more loving than on that Norfolk double-seater!