“Slough” – Sir John Betjeman, 1937
Oh, friendly bombs, descend upon Slough!
This place isn’t fit for human life,
No grass is left for cows to graze,
So come, Death, swarm over!
Let the bombs obliterate—
Those bright, air-conditioned canteens,
That stock tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, and beans,
Tinned thoughts and tinned existence.
Destroy the chaos they call a town—
A house packed for ninety-seven down,
Where once a week brings half a crown
For two decades gone.
And let’s get that man with the double chin,
The perennial cheat who’s always winning,
Who washes his repugnant skin
In the tears of women:
And shatter his desk of polished oak,
And break his hands, so accustomed to caress,
Put an end to his dull, filthy jokes,
And make him scream.
But do spare the young clerks, balding and tired,
Who tally up the profits of the vile;
It’s not their fault they’ve become uninspired,
They’ve tasted a living Hell.
It’s not their fault they cannot hear
The sweet sounds of birdsong from their radio near,
Nor is it their fault they often steer
To Maidenhead.
Where they chatter of sports and car designs,
In those faux-Tudor bars,
Afraid to gaze up and see the stars,
Instead, they belch.
In homes designed for ease,
Their wives style their hair with peroxide tease,
Drying it with synthetic breezes,
While painting their nails.
Oh, friendly bombs, drop down on Slough
To prepare it for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.
Sir John Betjeman’s “Slough” presents a striking and irreverent critique of modernity and suburban life, using the metaphor of bombs to illustrate his desire for radical change. The poem captures a deep sense of disillusionment towards the complacency and banality of post-war British suburbia, depicting Slough as a symbol of this mediocrity.
Betjeman’s plea for “friendly bombs” to rain down startlingly highlights the absurdity of a place devoid of nature and life. The sharp juxtaposition between the civilized exterior—the “air-conditioned, bright canteens”—and the internal decay is masterfully rendered. The staccato rhythm of the poem mirrors the mechanical, soulless existence of the town’s inhabitants, trapped in a cycle of consumerism and conformity. His vivid images of “tinned minds” and “tinned breath” evoke the monotonous and sterile reality of suburban life, serving as a powerful indictment of a culture that prioritizes convenience over authenticity.
Yet, amidst the chaos and destruction he wishes, there’s a hint of compassion for the “bald young clerks” who are merely products of their environment, unable to escape the “madness” of their lives. Betjeman’s nuanced portrayal recognizes the individuals caught in this system, emphasizing that the true culpability lies not in them but in a society that stifles creativity and connection.
The closing lines suggest a hopeful return to nature—a rebirth of the land “ready for the plough” and the arrival of “cabbages.” This shift reflects a longing for simplicity, growth, and authenticity amid the ruins of modern suburbia. In essence, Betjeman’s work remains a poignant reminder of the tension between progress and preservation, urging us to reconsider what we value in our lives and communities.