Ode to a Bell Tent – a Poem by Penelope Lewis

Home Safe to Bell

In wet Wales she stood magnificent
Stiff skirt encircling
Protection, affection, steaming vests
Strung to her central pole

Strong mast, painted green
Hauled by all. Hoisted straight, hoisted tall
Held fast the billowing canvas
In standard-issue cream

Until a perfect circle spun
All ropes lashed down
Socks elastic on wooden pegs
If forced to hold the storm

Braced she the winds that cliff-top raged
Tugging at her heart
Some days she danced
The Hover

Lower skirt edged with webbing,
Lifting, jigging
Brushing the wet pasture
Dotted with cow pats, dotted with dew

Primrose melamine and saucers too
Out of the trailer kitchen
With canopy and breakfast shelves
Tins, jars and a Primus stove

That hissed
And lit the cooking alcove
With purple flames and a glow
To warm bedraggled campers huddled round

Braced she the winds that cliff-top raged
Tugging at her heart
Some days she danced
The Hover

Open the duffle flaps
Tie back the cords
Wellingtons, macintoshes
Souwester helmets, to soften the blow

But there, look, on the 49th stair
Slants a sun salutation
Rabbit path descent on bended knees
Down to the beach, down to the sea

Race for the rocks
Bigger and bigger
Until caverns yawn and tight
Wedged fast, the floats adorn

Braced she the winds that cliff-top raged
Tugging at her heart
Some days she danced
The Hover

Green glass netted
Gently, so gently to the bag
Up we carry to the canvas queen
To her we lean

Fading daylight, sizzling pans
Check the tensions
Rope through hands
Pulling her upright, firm she stands

Over the sheep path, warm windows lure
Froth on beer with pickled eggs
Until, back through disgruntled rams
Home safe to Bell

Braced she the winds that cliff-top raged
Tugging at her heart
Some days she danced