Phil Ireland

Updated: Thu, 4 Mar 2021 08:20 pm

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Biography

I was born in Streatham, London in 1953 in the days when we were not called “Baby Boomers” and most of London’s bombsites were called car parks. At a tender time that bounced us through life when the Second World War lingered on as ancient history – “Eight years ago – phfff!”. In 1955 my parents moved my sister, brother and me to Bracknell, then a New Town. I still see the first image of the house we later called home. To a 21/2 year old in a street full of brand new whitewashed houses which burnt itself into a memory that lasts forever. The school years went by thankfully until in my final year when I went along to an afternoon of poetry organised by our English teacher . It was great – though at the time I was probably awestruck by the free coffee more than anything else. That afternoon revolved around the poetry of three poets; all three from the University of Oxford(!). One of the three had been at the school on teaching practice (shows how long ago this was!) and arranged for two other friends to join him for the afternoon. One of the guys prefaced his readings with the fact that he had wanted to write songs but he couldn’t play an instrument – which has resonated with me ever since because that was what I have wanted to do ever since. Unfortunately I never did get further than strumming a few chords on a small Russian acoustic guitar. We were asked, in the days before the reading, if we would like to write something of our own to bring along to read. I read my piece to the acclaim that it sounded better read than it looked on paper! The next day I wrote another poem, another day another poem! I didn’t tell anyone! Many years went by – including a time in Sheffield not very successfully studying chemistry; but while I was there I went along to a local writers’ group which was a place to bring along pieces to read if you wanted to. Other members gave me suggestions for magazines to try to get some pieces published – without any success! Living back in Bracknell had an unexpected bonus in that the development corporation and Southern Arts created South Hill Park arts centre where I learnt to create video programmes amongst other things. The most important thing that happened to me was meeting and working with Sebastian Barker who was the centre’s writer in residence at the time. He created was an informal group of writers who met on a Thursday night. It was a really laid back time – writing something for Thursdays was the impetus to be creative. The first pieces I had published were from this time and were in two collective books of original writing – “Poems by the people and children of Bracknell” and “A zoo to brood upon”. These books did produce the “authority of print” that Sebastian had said they would. Throughout my career I have also been involved in writing items of a scientific, technical and trade nature. I now live in West Berkshire with my wife and two daughters. I have been in various groups and the “Society of Civil and Public Service Writers” with a some items published in group publications.

Samples

Long gone, John Standing on the quay, Just arrived from Birkenhead. Ticket in me hand - Come to see the Liver birds And Lennon's mystic land. Strutting out, Tramping through the streets To stand Looking - A great big kid. Putty in your songs, they said. Me. A generation. Reading. Ingesting in jest Just as you would have done. From above The copper bronze madonna looks down - Freezing time - And keeping the city's sons safe - Save the one that flew away. And yes, I can imagine, John, That almost I hear you playing In the car park where you were - Strumming to the gentle beat Of the railway trains beneath our feet. The bridges still remain - But the walls? The walls are long gone, John.

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