I was going to set my story in the Home Counties between the wars

Possibly in Kent or Surrey or even Hampshire

It would be the era of picturesque villages and bucolic railway stations

My characters would come from the upper middle classes

And have names like Toby Bunny Polly and Winnie Blue

It would be a mannered story quite innocent in places

But full of erotic overtones and secret thoughts

There would be no unpleasantness between my characters

And each day would be yet another deep summers day

 

But I suddenly realised that I would be unable to write it

As I had been born some years after the war

My experiences were in no way similar

And my background was totally different

I was the son of a fish and chip shop owner

Who happened to be clever enough to go to Oxford

I had mixed with the Amanda’s and Toby’s at college

But my name was Colin Smith which was hardly exotic

I might have written under a pseudonym

But that would have dishonoured my father

 

I tried to start my novella many times

But ended up wiping my thoughts

As there were no foundations to my story

My characters would now be considerably older than me

And would have experienced things that would not fade

The war was over and I knew that there would be no further wars

So this rather staggered poem will be my only record

Of an inhibited attempt to write a slow burning novella

Which I had intended to call A Cinnamon Cake