THE BECK
the beck
my beck
North England
Old English bece
Dutch beek
German bach
my beck
my early life
my once-upon-a-time world
it was all things to me
my territory
my front line
against the outside world
fell in
fished out
fished in
fishes out
tiddlers
minnows
sticklebacks
countless times
jumped it daily
dammed it
constructed waterfalls
floods flooded
floods receded
dredged
repaired
renewed
succoured my imagination
my Coliseum
my Olympic stadium
succeeding
my umbilical chord
as my link to the world
it ran through my heart
and past my house
gave me a ballpark
my own adventure playground
complete with running water
subterranean tunnels
waterfalls
dams
stepping stones
overhanging trees
to climb
to suspend myself
dangling
over the running water
sandstone-walled bridges
for carving initials
routes to explore
in both directions
crossings to navigate
ledges to crawl along
overgrown banks
forbidden sections
Rubicon for gang warfare
Lethe at dusk
above all
suspending my belief
in dreams
for this was my reality
once upon a time
NOTE: North England. BECK … A brook, especially a swiftly running stream with steep banks.
Roland's Ragbag 
Lovely, lovely, lovely this instantly brought back similar childhood memories. We were lucky lads Roland. Thank you
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Yes, Nigel. Poor but lucky… Even though a world war was raging at the time.
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I guess you’d need that boyhood escapism more than ever..have you written re the war ?
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Not overtly. A possibility – in my limited way. The austerity was there, but I wasn’t near the sharp end.
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Lovely!
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Many thanks for responding, Vanessa.
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My pleasure Roland!
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Marvelous. Every one needs their own umbilical cord to the past. Your ‘beck’ sends me through time to visit the ‘creek’ of my backyard. Thanks for the memories.
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I’m pleased my poem struck a chord with you Jerry.
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Lovely, Roland. For me, it’s my grandparents’ house, the one I lived in during my childhood, that roots me. Even though it has fallen into disrepair and my grandparents’ have passed, I go there in my mind quite often. The property was filled with oaks, pine, magnolia and even a couple of holly trees. Oh, and I don’t want to forget the camellias. This magical space nurtured many dreams.
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Thanks for your interesting comments, Laura. Yes, going there in the mind seems to happen more frequently the older we get.
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Roland,
I really love this poem. It is so strong and full of life. Vividly painting your whole childhood and giving us a feeling of fun and beauty. I wouldn’t be surprised if you still feel it when you go there.
The word Beck delighted me as I don’t hear it mentioned in England as I often tried to find the words for different sizes of running waters.
To me it would have been my “Bäck” 🙂 . Same word really.
Miriam
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I do thank you for your perceptive comments Miriam. I do still on occasion try to recapture those feelings by re-visiting my beck.
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