For the last week the nightly news has shown severe flooding. Torrential rain for many days on top of one of the wettest summers and autumns for many years has resulted in swollen rivers spilling onto streets and into houses. For the last 20-odd years house building has been the golden egg-laying goose of the new urban political classes and has become an important driver of the economy. Little thought has been given to historical reasons why there was no previous development on certain land areas that were traditionally left as flood plain. Meanwhile extra roads, concrete and roof areas have all contributed to fuller ditches and rivers. Global warming was predicted to lead to a severe water shortage akin to having a new Sahara across southern England, so planning and implementation of flood defences were deemed to be of less importance than building (in certain areas even abandoned in favour of wild birds). Until the arrival of the perfect storm…

Been raining hard across the UK,
Bad flooding down the West Country way.
The only flooding we’ve seen around here,
A couple of blocked drains we’ve had to clear.
It’s lead to two small inconvenient lakes,
Ideal for the geese, the ducks and the drakes!

But I spare a thought for those who might,
Find they can swim in their kitchen tonight.
If that happened to me I’d feel quite ill,
Thank heavens that we live up on a hill!
Some homeowners are seeking assurance,
Because they’re without household insurance.

A political credo of “build, build, build!”
Has resulted in rivers being thoroughly filled.
Flood defences in places have been badly breached,
Or maximum levels of defence have been reached.
Some householders find that they’re flooded again,
It isn’t their fault it was once a flood plain.

Global Warming, they warned would make sea levels high,
They didn’t say the problem would come from the sky.
Sea level here is 450 feet down,
If we were flooded, Baldock would drown.
We’d have to cut trees (without the bark),
Because if we flooded we’d need a new Ark!

© Baldock Bard 2012
For more verse click on ‘Home’ above

Facebook Friends: Baldock Bard
E-mail: baldockbard(at)u-boot.co.uk
Replace (at) with @

Yesterday in Northern France I was reminded of the meaning of sacrifice. Not the one less holiday a year, cutting out a drink after work or inconvenient currency fluctuation, but the ultimate sacrifice of loss of life. I overheard a young schoolboy sum it up rather well when he said to his teacher at the Canadian Memorial at Vimy Ridge: “They died so we can be here”…

They’re worried about the Euro,
They are feeling the heat in Greece,
France has changed its Government,
Still no threat to peace.

The world in financial turmoil,
It’s been like this before,
This time they’re still talking,
Still no sign of war.

We’re worried about our future,
Shall I have that manicure?
Will we sacrifice our summer holiday?
To keep our standards secure.

There’s a place in France called Etaples,
Just inshore from the sea,
Where row upon row of headstones,
Sacrifices: Eleven-Thousand, Four-Three-Three.

Under the trees standing apart,
All alone and hidden from view,
No 9436 Chinese Labour Corps,
I will remember you.
© Baldock Bard 2012
E-mail: baldockbard(at)u-boot.co.uk
Replace (at) with @