“Slough” – Sir John Betjeman, 1937
Come, friendly bombs, and descend upon Slough!
It has become uninhabitable for mankind,
No grass remains for a cow to graze upon.
Come, Death, swarm over!
Come, bombs, and obliterate to pieces
Those bright, air-conditioned canteens,
With their tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
And tinned thoughts, tinned breaths.
Tear apart this so-called town—
A dwelling for ninety-seven souls
And a weekly rent of a half-crown
For two long decades.
And take down that man with the double chin
Who always cheats and always wins,
Who cleanses his loathsome skin
With the tears of women:
Shatter his desk of polished oak,
Break the hands accustomed to stroke,
Silence his dreary, filthy joke
And make him scream.
But spare the young clerks with balding heads
Calculating the gains of the sordid swindler;
It’s not their fault they’ve lost their minds,
For they’ve tasted despair.
It’s not their fault they remain unaware
Of birdsong that drifts from the radio,
It’s not their fault they often flee
To Maidenhead,
To discuss sports and the latest car models
In various faux-Tudor pubs,
Daring not to gaze up and see the stars
But instead belch in their seats.
In labor-saving homes, with care,
Their wives curl their peroxide-dyed hair,
Drying it in artificial air
And painting their nails.
Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough,
Clear it away for the plow.
The cabbages are on their way;
The earth takes a breath.
This poem by Sir John Betjeman captures a deep sense of frustration and disillusionment with modern life in Slough, reflective of broader societal critiques during the 1930s. The imagery of destruction paired with the call for “friendly bombs” serves as both a darkly humorous and poignant commentary on the soullessness of urban environments, consumerism, and the monotony of daily existence.
Betjeman effectively contrasts the lifelessness of industrialized living with the beauty of nature, as seen in the closing lines suggesting a longing for renewal and a return to more organic, meaningful experiences. The lament for the townspeople, who are depicted as trapped in their routines and oblivious to the wonders around them, resonates today as well, reminding us of the risks of succumbing to a life of convenience at the expense of genuine connection to our environments—both natural and communal.
It’s fascinating how Betjeman employs a light yet biting tone to express such serious concerns, inviting readers to reflect on their own relationship with modernity and the world around them. The desire for transformation, indicated by the cabbages “coming now,” suggests hope amidst despair, urging us to consider what it means to live authentically and sustainably. How relevant these themes remain in our contemporary context—certainly worth discussing!