Author Archives: Robin

Armies in the Fire

by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850‐1894) The lamps now glitter down the street; Faintly sound the falling feet; And the blue even slowly falls About the garden trees and walls. Now in the falling of the gloom The red fire paints the empty room: And warmly on the roof it looks, And flickers on the backContinue reading “Armies in the Fire”

A soldier’s farewell to his old mother

As long as there have been stories there have been storytellers. Even if the story is just about hunting a bear. Back in prehistory somebody had to tell the tribe about the bravery of the hunters who faced the fury of a giant animal who could rip you open with a slash of its claws.Continue reading “A soldier’s farewell to his old mother”

A Ballad of Nursery Rhyme

by Robert Graves (1895‐1985) Strawberries that in gardens grow Are plump and juicy fine, But sweeter far as wise men know Spring from the woodland vine. No need for bowl or silver spoon, Sugar or spice or cream, Has the wild berry plucked in June Beside the trickling stream. One such to melt at theContinue reading “A Ballad of Nursery Rhyme”

No need to dot the i’s or cross the t’s

My one failing as I prepared to become a journalist was getting to grips with Pitman’s shorthand. Out of our class of less than 20 on my Kelsterton College course myself and four of the girls could not grasp the Pitman system. I don’t know if it was a means of letting us down lightlyContinue reading “No need to dot the i’s or cross the t’s”

A Broadway Pageant

by Walt Whitman (1819-1892) Over the western sea, hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart-cheek’d two-sworded envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive, Ride to-day through Manhattan. Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold, In the procession, along with the nobles of Asia, the errand-bearers, Bringing up the rear,Continue reading “A Broadway Pageant”

Back to class — to learn journalism?

By the time I had been a journalist for almost three years I was sent back to the classroom — at least it was at a college and not going back to school. The National Council for the Training of Journalists (it does what it says on the tin) had initially decreed trainee journalists shouldContinue reading “Back to class — to learn journalism?”

The Death of Joy Gardner

by Benjamin Zephaniah (b. 1958) They put a leather belt around her 13 feet of tape and bound her Handcuffs to secure her And only God knows what else, She’s illegal, so deport her Said the Empire that brought her She died, nobody killed her And she never killed herself. It is our job toContinue reading “The Death of Joy Gardner”