The Signal Box Revisited
Nothing has changed since I first saw Helpston flash by, years ago now, the same wide fields, the flatness, the serious hedges. Valerian has thickened up along the track and there are stands of dog daisies and plumy grass. John Clare lies at Helpston and I learned only today that Blunden took his poems to the Somme. He read them in old shell holes where convolvulus trailed all bright with butterflies and larks sang overhead. John Clare wrote about such things too. War never burned his land, the churches and the lonely farms still stand.