New Library at Pontefract

(on seeing a film featuring John Betjeman)

Long, long ago, when I was twelve,

John Betjeman was here

to make romance for Pontefract,

to make it very clear

that this was not some ‘northern town’

of legend, cold and drear,

but hill-top place, Italianate -

the self-same atmosphere

that brought the olive growers in

to market year by year.

For olives, please read liquorice -

and no, you mustn’t sneer,

‘For townscape qualities like this

are (please believe me dear)

designed to raise the soul of man

to bring us all good cheer.

Town planners now, it seems to me

lose sight of this idea.

Their modern blocks are hideous,

depressing, and austere.’

In Ponte now, I tread your steps,

departed balladeer,

where no one much remembers that

John Betjeman was here.

Still stands the library you loved -

it’s Nouveau lines all clear -

but library no more, alas -

good God! - your eyes would blear -

they’ve built a new one opposite -

egg-boxy - concrete - queer…