Away from Imber Court
¶ 1
Leave a comment on verse 1 0
Drink was flowing by the River Ember
under placid skies above Island Barn Reservoir
where The Bell was surrounded by Alsatians
scattered on burnt grass in black and umber,
fresh from the water to kettle their masters.
¶ 2
Leave a comment on verse 2 0
North of the Esher Sewage Treatment Works
in sterile upmarket bars away from Imber Court,
where the only reason to live is just beyond Seething Wells
to the east, the Met Police gathered on San Miguel
to march through Molesey with tazers and tannoys
¶ 3
Leave a comment on verse 3 0
beyond Queen Elizabeth Storage, escorting themselves
to a local derby at Walton & Hersham, keeping the frisks
in-house, removing each others’ bottle tops
for water filled by Our Lady of Lourdes.
¶ 4
Leave a comment on verse 4 0
Will we be stranded at Walton-on-Thames
by the Engine River’s low diesel water course,
or cross ourselves over to D’Oyly Carte Island
to revise some police standards in cooling air,
¶ 5
Leave a comment on verse 5 0
wafting minor chords into barbecue smoke
or Stadbury fires off Weybridge Landing.
¶ 6
Leave a comment on verse 6 0
In our absence of geography and support,
no-one knows we’re here, or likes us – we don’t care –
wasting our resources in the shade of diseased willow
in among the backwaters, under a sun flare.
¶ 7
Leave a comment on verse 7 0
We could go home or follow the Godalming navigation
all the way down to the boarding kennels
of Peper Harrow in drifting daylight
over Hurtmore and Shackleford, or arrive
at an obscure part of inland Hampshire – Frith End
or Wrecclesham, wait at Birdworld and hitchhike
up the A31 and A3 to cross the Orbital for home.
Hi Alex,
what a fabulous poem!
It captures the essence of non-league football, and the travel involved to and from matches.
“Gathering on a Thames island for a sing-song”: possibly Eel Pie Island back in the 60s or 70s, a local venue that I never went to, but watched recently on a documentary.
I’ll count myself as one of these few Met fans!
I played on saturdays (SAL), but pre or post our season, I’d be supporting the Blues / football.
Given my ‘manor’, I’d be at either:
Stamford Bridge, or
Brentford, or
Imber Court, or
the Beveree (for Hampton, as was – now Hampton and Richmond Borough).
Imber Court holds a lot of fond memories for our family – it’s where we went on a regular basis to let off steam. I could cycle there safely with pals any time I wanted.
I watched Wimbledon champions in their early days there (venue for Junior qualifiers);, watched Chelsea train there for one pre-season (and grabbed a left behind sweaty shirt! Still have it – and yes, washed!).
Dad wasn’t much of a fan generally, but he joined me as we watched his friends and colleagues play, so a bonding time for the both of us.
My sister had her wedding reception there, and we had my mother’s funeral reception there earlier this year.
So your poem brought back some very touching personal memories, I thank you profusely for that.
But again, in itself, it is a great poem.