Quartered Safe Inside

(Peter Lastima)

A nostalgic and sentimental song about England as recalled by expatriates, far from home and missing a gentle, and rather traditional, version of the green and pleasant land.

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I miss the pubs, of course I do, 
I miss the Stoics who are queuing up to queue, 
At Waterloo, 

I miss the rain, on country lanes, 
I miss the way the country's going down the drain, 
Again,

The market towns, the village greens, 
I miss the Last night of the Proms although I've never even been, 
I miss the Queen. 

But it's all here inside, 
It's quartered safe inside for the duration, 
And though this sense of nation
May be part imagination,
It's the only pass we have for embarkation,
It's quartered safe inside for the duration.

Northamptonshire, and Brighton pier, 
I miss the hundred little groceries you'll never get out here, 
Like ginger beer,

I miss the Edinburgh tattoo,
I miss the Boat Race 'though I never cared who won or even knew, 
Which blue was who, 

The Oval sky is celendine,  
But 'though the England tail's collapsing and it's ninety-eight for nine,  
The prospect's fine, 

But it's all here inside, 
It' s quartered safe inside for the duration, 
And though this sense of nation
May be part imagination,
It's the only map that shows a destination, 
It's quartered safe inside for the duration. 

The BBC, is lost to me,
Though I miss the reassurance where I think it used to be, 
To a degree, 

And though I hate, excoriate, 
The orders of the warders on the prison-ships of state, 
The way they prate,

Yet I dare say, that even they, 
Will cut through all their cables and discreetly drift away, 
Some sunny day.    

I miss St Paul's, and rolling mauls,  
I miss the vicars and the cabbies and the doormen from Nepal,  
I miss them all,  

But it’s all here inside, 
It's quartered safe inside for the duration, 
And though this sense of nation
May be part imagination
It's our only chance of winning a salvation, 
It's quartered safe inside for the duration.  
© Peter Lastima 2019