The Poetry Society held its April meeting on Easter Sunday in the Gilroy Phillips Memorial Garden, just as the weather turned from Springlike to Arctic. The town was full of visitors, all beaches well occupied and the earnest work of building sand castles and paddling at the waters edge was in full cry. The town itself was busy but amongst the Easter Bonnets could be seen another species, namely the poets, hurrying the streets, books, scripts and manuscripts at the ready. Off to do the luxury of exquisite words and verses in the garden.

As we settled the last vestigial of a family Easter Garden party was clearing up. The poets had watched the frantic searches of the small children for the hidden eggs and their parents unpicking those same children from the thorns of rose buses. Oh! Those were the days.

The poets gathered on the seats, under the awnings, well sheltered from any rain which was threatening. But as we sat, we noticed the poets’ eyebrows turning white. A vicious frost was doing its worst. Just one poet did something about it and “off she trot” to change from her cotton Easter dress and bonnet into something from the film set of Dr Zhivago. Very sensible of her but the peep-toe sandals looked a little incongruous. A little bit short of Lara’s Theme.

As is usual practice the Chair, Miss Draper, called Phillip first to the dais just to get the worst over quickly. His choice was a poem for two voices quite obviously beyond his capability which he managed to strangulate without any variations of voice. The muted applause was a bit of politeness only. The poets do not like to discourage enthusiasm, but as he vacated the platform, he turned his head stating “D.H. Lawrence would be disappointed with your reaction”. To which the other poets shouted in unison “that poem was not D.H. Lawrence’s usual style. We want better.”

Normality then resumed with the excellence of the other parts. Trish read ‘The Ballad of the Breadman’ before walking the garden sniffing the marigolds. Chris read an Easter Poem whilst tethered to his black mountain mastiff hound. Lorna re-appeared in her furs and peep toe sandals with a work by Robert Louis Stevenson and Anne (H) told us to laugh a little every day.

Pamela, who arrived late, I think for show, was soon into her stride with “Dust if you must” by Rose Milligan, soon followed by “The Self Playing Instrument of Water” and then another, a poem of her own “Just Before I go to Sleep” which was pure fantasy for this poet/reporter tried it himself last night and never got a wink.

Chris was soon on again with “The Foresaker” followed on the rebound with “Easter weeks”. Then Denise read “Valentine” by Carol Ann Duffy followed later by “Do not go gentle in the night” by you know who. Denise delivers with such power that I imagine in her younger days she could easily have been a regular on stage in Stratford upon Avon.

Phillip then inveigled himself back on stage, whilst nobody was looking, and announced he would do another piece by D.H. Lawrence but this time a ‘spicy and juicy’ one. There was a muted cheer for this performer but I noticed the ladies were putting on a pretence. They were not interested in this sort of D.H. Lawrence culture, they seemed to be saying. Straight in he waded. As Aphrodite rose from the waves the words of D.H. Lawrence had some form of seduction about them.

The April meeting had been a resounding success. All spoke their bits with the exception of the dog who was not affected by the cold; and a bit tongue tied in any case. Towards the end of the meeting some Goddess appeared with a teapot, fig biscuits and bone china crockery. Our thanks to the lady on high who thawed our frozen feet again.

The next meeting will be on Sunday, May 15, the merry month of course, at 3 pm in the Gilroy Phillips Garden. Arrive early. There is bound to be a crush. If the weather is bad, we will again be in the Old Chapel on Lower Frog Street.