The Channel

THE CHANNEL. A fantasy  -  with fact in it -for the English

Part 1

A hundred thousand eons ago - a little more or less,
God, who'd made the world, was looking down from Heaven,
And He murmured, cogitatively, "That job's a proper mess", 
So he called for Angel, (Structural), Number Seven.

Now it happened, half by chance you know, as often these things do, 
That Seven was different from his angel brothers,
For God one day had wearied of the accent (type CIV.2),
Which fell upon his ears from all the others.

For it seemed that every blessed one had come up from the South – 
Angels, cherubim and seraphim inclusive,
And every blessed one spoke with a large plum in his mouth,
Which God found just the tiniest touch intrusive.

So when Seven was appointed Angel, Structural, (Grade.3), 
God’s rich, rare laughter swept through Heaven in gales, 
And he said “It is my pleasure that young Seven's speech shall be, 
Of the tone, type, sense, they breed around the Dales”.

(And it was so).
***

"Seven", said the Lord, “just spare a tick and cast thine eyes down theer,
Something's missing, - out of balance - gone astray,
I'm be-blowed if I can spot it, but it's put the whole job queer, 
And I'd like it right - can'st give me half a day?”

"Aye" Seven said, "Lord, mayhap I can, especially as it's Thee",
And then – (thoughtful like and slow) - "Tha knows, tha'art right, 
I'll finish off t’ Pleiades job and have a sup of tea,
Then I'll take a look at Earth for Thee tonight".

That night, when silence fell on heaven and stars flamed overhead, 
And round the outer skies the comets swirled,
A solitary worker, Seven, mused with his hands on head,
Upon the waiting, half formed, God-touched world.

His glance ranged north, south, east and west, past, future, day and night,
Then his craftsman’s eyes were crinkled by a smile,
And he said  “By gum! - The Gaffer, he almost had it right
But for one small thing - 'twill nobbut take a while.”

He brought celestial power to bear, accurate, firm and sure, 
And to his will - for God - earth tore asunder,
A rampart of white cliffs arose, gleaming and strong and pure, 
With the Channels' salt-clean water flowing under.


"Such a small thing to do, he thought, to finish off God's work, 
To bring to balance that which He began.
A splinter-tiny island held in fortress by the sea,
Done - ready to be occupied by man

**********

PART II.

Then, in the vast and starry night with heaven all sleeping still, 
He set his thoughts - half dreams - to range a while,
Inspecting that which now was done, (as all good workmen will), 
'Till at last his glance was drawn back to the isle.

He saw the vandal ice sheets come and watched them gouge and tear, 
'Neath the faery lights that ghost the northern sky.
Saw the flitting nomad hunters harry mammoth, wolf and bear,
Saw the great, grey stones for Avebury lumber by.

Saw Flint and Bronze and Iron men and heard the Celt-harps sing, 
Saw the leathered, brass-greaved legions storming by.
Saw wild Bouddicca’s frantic hordes hurled at the Roman ring,
Saw them founder at the wall of shields and die.

Observed how, as the centuries passed, Roman and Celt 'came one,
Precursors of the forming island race,
All sleek with peace and fat with peace - then Roman times were done,
And - by right of axe - the Saxon took their place.

But - the Island worked her magic - by Wood and Stream and Thorn, 
By her dark, deep soil and the mists that round her cling,
Roman, Saxon, Celt were melded - and now was England born,
And in course of time Great Alfred 'came her king.

He saw the horn-helmed Vikings come, from the treacherous Northern Sea,
And rage in fire and blood from shore to shore,
Saw the quiet men of Wessex rise in awful Saxon rage,
'till the men who came for Dane-geld came no more.

Foul fell the wind for England then - bleak from the East it came,
Brought the plunder-hungry Normans clamouring down.
And the battle-weary Saxons dogged fought and dogged fell, 
And to bitter, war-wise William went the crown.

The centuries trod their measured path and blood ‘came kin to blood, 
Celt and Roman, Saxon, Norman, ceased to be,
For the mist wreathed woods and the well loved soil it took them all in thrall,
The Children of the Island of the Sea.



Behind their storm thrashed Channel - their God-made blessed Ditch, 
Grew justice, slow wrought, careful, rooted deep,
And freedoms which came custom - they'd defend 'em with their life, 
And count that final reckoning as cheap.

Seven saw a thousand village greens beside a thousand inns, 
Where, in summer-white the casual English played,
All in the yew-girt shadows of the simple grey stone towers, 
Where - man to man - to God - the English prayed.

He saw the rambling, twisting roads between the hedges wind, 
And the water meadows yellow-soft with flowers,
The oaks deep bent with acorns and the dog-rose all aflame, 
And a thousand gardens jewelled by Spring's bright showers


The ancient badger’s lair, deep-dug, in woods where bluebells grow, 
And the endless dry stone walls which span the Dales,
The rolling, bow-backed downlands and the blazing heather moors, 
And the granite cliffs that blunt the winter gales

***********

L'envoi.

The first faint flush of dawn illumed the eastern edge of heaven, 
Seven sensed The Presence a-sudden at his side,
"Aye, Lord", said he “‘tis done - for Thee - mayhap my best job yet, 
Forgive, please Lord, I know you will, my pride?”

The Good Lord smiled, (He understood), 
A craftsman to a brother, 
“Ee lad, tha's done a right good job - now - let's go start another".