where is this village, Martin?
I fondly recall spring 1980 in Old Boars Hill when the cuckoos sounded so
boldly.
If I remember aright, after a few weeks their call changes to oo-cuck, oo-cuck.
Our rented cottage backed on to 'Matthew Arnold Hill' (or was it 'Field'?),
and my son attended Matthew Arnold College, a fairly tough high school.
Trying to recall the name of the village where Ruskin led undergraduate acolytes
(inc Oscar Wilde) in a spot of roadmaking.
In an Oxford lecture hall I heard Terry Eagleton urging the young on to the
Necessity of Theory.
I gathered one was needed by the young BEFORE they read literature.
Otherwise they would be trapped by bourgeois ideology.
Max
Quoting Martin Walker <[log in to unmask]>:
> Thou wast not born for death, immortal bird - the first two nightingales of
> spring have just joined the frogs' nocturnal concert, piping and trilling in
> descant, down near the brook at the bottom of the village.
> But I was already a sod before I heard their high requiem.
> mj
>
> And the globe keeps rolling towards a pocket without a bottom although on
> the way the green cloth field is smooth. - Louis MacNeice
>
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