When I first read this FT article – ‘My Blueprint For A better Britain’, by Tyler Brule …. not only did I agree – but it conjoured up a memory.
I recalled a poem that had been instilled into me as a youth called ‘England My England’, penned by one ‘William Ernest Henley’ and reproduced below for completeness. I couldn’t quite recall who wrote it – so did some research.
Turns out that he also wrote those immortal words :
“I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul” … that ends his poem ‘Invictus’.
Sidenote
According to Wikipedia (and who are we to argue with them) …. Timothy McVeigh quoyed Invictus as his final statement, prior to execution
Read the article. Agree, disagree. I would like to hear from you.
The question is – does anyone else wonder about our country ? Is anyone – anywhere – doing anything about it ?
England My England
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England —
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you’ve done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England —
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:–
‘Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England–
To the stars on your bugles blown!’
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mail’d hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea’s delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There ‘s the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
William Ernest Henley
And on a side note, here’s a thought ….
Someone writes an article in London. It gets published into the FT. My friend in California receives the FT on a daily basis. He cuts out the column and sends it to us through the mail system. Received in London, I search the site for the online version of the article. I find it – and on the plane that morning (by coincidence I am flying to California), I write this post. Having landed in California, I find a connection – and publish – reproduced here for your delectation. It just shows that the net is only part of the story.