THE ENTHUSIAST
by W. H. Charnock
One man I knew put all of us to shame,
He drove the last decrepitude of cars
And vilely drove, his head among the stars,
Bemused with wistful dreams he could not name,
For just one year the too-devoted flame
Against all sense and nature in him burned,
Then, penniless with riddled lungs, returned
Him to the sanatorium whence he came.
To him it all was paradise come true;
Down empty roads he knew the vestal light
Of daybreak after driving through the night,
And slumbrous crimson winter dusk he knew,
Small pubs on moorland heights, the patient queue
For Silverstone, the wilderness of rain:
All this he tasted once and not again,
For whom life smiled awhile and then withdrew.
But we, who shared with him that halcyon year
And pulled his leg because he drove so badly,
Remember how he took to laughter gladly
And gave no sign at all and showed no fear.
If he is wakeful yet, then may the dear
And tuneless music of that engine note,
Which charmed him so, into his silence float,
And all his happy miles again be near.
And if he sleeps, then somewhere may he wake
And find a wheel to hold, a road to take.
http://www.british-cars.org.uk/kimber/namgbr/memory.htm
----- Original Message -----
From: "AB Bonds" <ab@vuse.vanderbilt.edu>
> Many years ago a peom by W. H. Charnock titled "The Enthusiast" was
> posted to either this list or the mgs list. Started out something like
> "He drove the greatest decrepitude of cars...."
>
> I have lost my copy. Does anyone have this in a file?
>
> Thanks
>
>listinfo/british-cars
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