Magazine

A last poem by David Ayres which was read at his cremation service on 29 January 2016

Instalment 46: The sign board of Balkan grill Boro shows two hot-headed chefs who are out to kill each other with shashlik skewers.

Instalment 45: In the bridge room of Tabor Home, Reverend Uncle Peer emphasizes the Feast of the Transfiguration with a Holy Mass in front of twelve wheelchair-bound people.

Pantomime is one of the best kept secrets in Britain. Dutch readers may well think it’s like the mime (in Dutch: ‘pantomime’!) which was a recurring interval act during the big TV variety shows of the 1960s and 1970s, in which a mime artist wordlessly performed actions such as placing hands against an invisible window. In our house this was the signal for a toilet break.

‘So you think bombing is very bad for the environment?’
‘Yes, setting fire to oilfields is rather damaging to the environment.’
‘So we shouldn’t have fought that Second World War, either?’
‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

Instalment 44: In the stuffy arrivals hall, Axel is accosted by the woman who is the first to emerge from customs.

The people I told looked at me as if I was going to travel into a war zone. Actually, after the Paris attacks, I travelled from London to Arnhem and, six days later, back again. Yes, that’s right, through Brussels.

Instalment 43: Every night, Axel steals a hardcover from the feminist bookshop.

Last Thursday, together with my publisher, I decided to research the local Bonfire Night customs in more detail, like an anthropologist investigating the last tribe that still wears penis sheaths.

Instalment 42: Even during his last year before retiring, once provoked, deputy head Kreuze easily explodes into anger.

Runner up in the I is Another competition

Can a book make you change your mind? That’s what occupied my thoughts after reading the new Ted Hughes biography by Jonathan Bate. The publication of this English biography almost coincided with that of Jij zegt het (It’s you who says it), a Dutch novel about Ted Hughes by Connie Palmen.

Instalment 41: Because mummy’s gallbladder is being removed on Good Friday, granny Reuser, from across the road, has taken charge of her daughter’s home.

Recently, someone asked me what it is like to be a poor poet living in a very wealthy London neighbourhood. ‘I see the funny side of it,’ I replied, ‘and it’s rather nice.’

During World War II, there were ‘Engelandvaarders’, people fleeing to England, and who used small boats to cross the Channel. Alternatively, they travelled through Belgium, France and Spain to Portugal or Gibraltar, and then on to England. They were made very welcome.

Instalment 40: The next morning, he sits, nerves on edge, at the kitchen table waiting for the phone to ring.

I’ve lived in London for over a year now. ‘Dutch expats are critical of the Netherlands,’ I recently explained to some English friends. ‘And a lot of Dutch people live abroad, actually 1 in 17.’

Instalment 39: Every fourteen minutes the High lighthouse’s rotating beam hits the neatly trimmed conifer hedge which surrounds camping the Corner.

‘The number of confused Dutch people abroad is increasing’, ran the headline in one of the Dutch newspapers. Embassies are coming across it far more frequently. In Madrid, a Dutchman was spotted directing the traffic stark naked.