A rallying call
 I'm writing to you, dear Sir Walter,  Poet, scholar, soldier, courtier,  Trying my best to write in verse  Although you’ll think it must be worse  Than any lines you wrote to please the Queen;  Nay, worse than any you have ever seen.   I write to you from Salterton,  That place where you had lots of fun  Beside the sea four centuries ago,  And where the view down on the beach  Goes further than the eye can reach,  To blood-red sunsets, distant lands of fame,  Of plants and beasts and such wild things and ships  As we can only dream of. Yet your name  For many people stands for nothing more  Than bikes, roll-ups, and naturally chips.   And Budleigh, with its pebbles known as buns,  Down where that naughty lively river Otter runs  Into the sea, is, so many say,  A town of wealthy pensioners, nothing more,  “Famed for its elderly population” reads Wikipedia, for  Long ago that ‘witty’ playwright Noel Coward  Described it as a place of potted palms and monumental bores  Who live life ...