Thursday, 28 August 2014

I Dream of Dorking

I have a dream that one day I will go Ragged Rambling in Dorking. I have a picture of Dorking in my mind that no amount of cynicism can erode. It is a wonderful place full of friendly people and single decker green buses with leather seats. How do I know this? Well, when I was a little boy, growing up in the east of London, I had a tiny toy bus and on the front of it was written, 'Dorking'. Playing with the bus in a sun-streaked dusty corner I knew then that Dorking was a special place - a place of dreams. One day soon I hope to visit there and savour the wonder therein. Until then I find myself moved to write this poem...

Up on Box Hill
clouds suspended
whilst time reclines,
standing still

To the south,
 the Mole Valley wending a way
and soon I'll be walking 
through the streets of Dorking

Those sun splashed streets
where once upon a day dreaming
I was a boy lost in play
with a green toy bus, 
labelled destination, 'Dorking'

~ Munro Tweeder-Harris Esq ~


  1. I was brought up very near Dorking, and the last time I went there (in the late 1960s) I met an old tramp with an upper-class accent who read me a poem in return for a cup of tea and breakfast. He had a bicycle fitted with cardboard panniers, enabling him to ride in the slipstream of large lorries at around 40 miles per hour. This is all true, so your vision of Dorking may not be too far off reality.

    1. The poem was about how his daughter had disinherited him, and tears ran down his cheeks as he recited it. Think NSC.