England's Dreaming

I hear the plaintive strains of Green Sleeves Emanate from colourful ice cream vans. Pummelling Punch and poor Judy are still Popular in certain seaside resorts. Leather clad bikers, on Bank Holidays, Often hang around quaint old villages. Maypole and Morris dances go round and Round and leave me gladly dazed and confused. The sweet, familiar scent of fairground Candy floss and toffee apples still drift On warm summer breezes. And fish and chips, With batter, wrapped in newspapers, Cockles and winkles also with salt and Vinegar, are simply divine to eat. These idiosyncratic reminders Of England's dreaming still fascinate me.