Slough

There are some places that are treated unfairly and I suspected that Slough was one of those. It's the home of the Office and Jimmy Carr and is the butt of many jokes. Sir John Betjeman wrote this famous poem in 1937, as a protest to the concrete way it was being developed..

Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years. 

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales. 

The Nazis obliged, a few years later, with not so friendly bombs and I suspect that Betjeman regretted publishing the poem, which lead to such ridicule of a place he loved. When I have observed something funny in my town or at work I find I am thrown into a quandary.  I want to write about it but I don't want other people to think there is something wrong with the places I love.

We stopped in Slough (which has the biggest Tesco I've ever seen) on the way back from Wales to walk round and stretch our legs and although I'm reluctant to add to Slough's troubles I must tell you about a funny observation.

A strange thing has happened to this town. All the dogs have been abducted. There's not a dog to be seen, anywhere. Not one single fury canine companion. The people of Slough were frightened and confused by the sight of our dog. As we walked down the stairs of the car park, people backed away into corners, small children cried or, if they were braver, pointed quizzically. 

In the town centre it was the same story. A group of teenage boys walking behind us started to discuss what they were seeing.

"What is that, blud?"

"It's a cow, innit?"

"Nah, it's not a dog. It might be a cat. Hey cat, what's your name?"

The dog looked at me, looked at the boy and we both smiled.

"See I told you it wasn't a dog. It didn't tell me it's name when I asked. If it was a dog it would have told me, wouldn't it, Bruv? I think you're right. It's not a dog."

Dog, Cat or Cow?