I’d bought my second-hand copy of Penguin’s Poetry of the Forties anthology several years before, probably in Hay-on-Wye, but had never got round to properly reading it. This year, faced with a trip involving hanging around at airports, and needing something to read in the air, I bundled it with other similar volumes into my rucksack. I did read it, and came across a name there that was vaguely fa...

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