The Birthplace of Ted Hughes
Following in the footsteps of famous people is often
questioned as a not so worth it journey. At least some people tell me. But I
find walking the terrain of creative artists provides a real sense of place and
purpose and helps to better understand the source of their passions. None truer
than in the case of Ted.
Navigating the slim streets, never designed for a 4x4 and a
white van man to pass sidely, and always on the look-out and pausing for
reversing cars to squeeze into the tiniest of gaps in front of their houses, I
wound my way down the sinewy lanes to Aspinall Street.
Yes, this is the house I have read so much about yet it’s so much more than that. This was your home, where your journey began.
End
Terrace
So here it is, the start, the first
cry with your first breath
Humble gritstone and tile on a quiet street not pretending to be anything else
Birthdays, Christmases, a pencil to mark your height against a wall
With the same pencil put the prose on blank sheet, it excites and ignites a passion life-long
End terrace, closeted streets,
Camping trips and nature sleeps seep into your poetry distilled from the moors and valleys of Calder
Its influence shone brightly throughout your writing career
But the spark started here
End terrace of gritstone and tile
The birds, the animals, the predators of the night
The rivers, the waters, the fluidity of the light
The thrill, the butterflies in the tummy at a new word learnt a new phrase coined
Perspectives mastered, language your attendant all perfectly aligned, satisfactorily adjoined
Charging out the front door into the morning light to play and school
An unimagined future that many will dissect follows
But this is the dawn, the genesis of it all.
Humble gritstone and tile on a quiet street not pretending to be anything else
Birthdays, Christmases, a pencil to mark your height against a wall
With the same pencil put the prose on blank sheet, it excites and ignites a passion life-long
End terrace, closeted streets,
Camping trips and nature sleeps seep into your poetry distilled from the moors and valleys of Calder
Its influence shone brightly throughout your writing career
But the spark started here
End terrace of gritstone and tile
The birds, the animals, the predators of the night
The rivers, the waters, the fluidity of the light
The thrill, the butterflies in the tummy at a new word learnt a new phrase coined
Perspectives mastered, language your attendant all perfectly aligned, satisfactorily adjoined
Charging out the front door into the morning light to play and school
An unimagined future that many will dissect follows
But this is the dawn, the genesis of it all.
