The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy

A very esoteric piece of news - the death of the 20th century's favourite poet John Betjeman's "muse" at the age of 92 - spurred me on to thoughts of the brilliant poem that she inspired the great Laureate to compose.

Alongside Slough and Metroland, his ballad of youthful obsession about the hefty Joan Hunter Dunn is indeed a classic of its genre, and one of my favourites:

A Subaltern's Love Song
Miss J. Hunter Dunn, Miss J. Hunter Dunn,
Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun,
What strenuous singles we played after tea,
We in the tournament - you against me!

Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy,
The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy,
With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won,
I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won,
The warm-handled racket is back in its press,
But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less.

Hear Sir John Betjeman reading this poem in its entirety.



RIP, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn...