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 ...