A Subaltern's Love Song

John Betjeman was an English poet who lived in the first half of the 20th century. He was known for some good poetry, as well as some silly poetry. This would have to be one of his best 'silly verses', a poem about a delightful young woman (Joan Hunter Dunn was her real name) who was a member of the elite English class. This poem was written some time after the second world war. When I watch my daughter playing tennis, I think about this poem, and the same symbolism tennis still retains in the modern world; it's something all good girls should play.

The bold words represent the tennis references in the poem.

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.

Her father's euonymus shines as we walk,
And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk,
And cool the verandah that welcomes us in
To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin.

The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath,
The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path,
As I struggle with double-end evening tie,
For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I.

On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts,
And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with sports,
And westering, questioning settles the sun,
On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall,
The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall,
My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair
And there on the landing's the light on your hair.

By roads "not adopted", by woodlanded ways,
She drove to the club in the late summer haze,
Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells
And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells.

Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
I can hear from the car park the dance has begun,
Oh! Surrey twilight! importunate band!
Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand!

Around us are Rovers and Austins afar,
Above us the intimate roof of the car,
And here on my right is the girl of my choice,
With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice.

And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said,
And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead.
We sat in the car park till twenty to one
And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.

Fencing

One day, I decided to watch my daughter playing tennis at the gym at Palia Ilektriki, accompanied by my son, who doesn't like sports at all. He doesn't like to rush for anything, he hates ball games, he's a slow walker, and I have always been wary of his weight, which has never been a problem, but he's young, so if it ever becomes a problem, it won't show up for quite a while anyway, which is why I worry. I wanted him to take up a sport, but nothing interested him, only chess, a sit-down game with no physical activity.

After he finished his homework while sitting at the outdoor tables at the closed cafe across the road from the tennis lesson, we went back to the gym where his sister was still playing a game, and wandered around, watching other children playing a bit of football and basketball, while others were doing warm-up exercises inside the gym. One of the coaches opened up a door to a section of the gym that we hadn't noticed before; actually it looked more like a shed. There were swords and masks hanging on one of the walls, just the perfect implements to entice a little pirate-loving musketeer like my son. In that shed-like shelter, my son found a sports activity that he wanted to take part in, without my begging him to become more active.

By a random stroll around the gym, my son had found his calling. We signed up for lessons immediately. Apart from the actual sport of fencing, the coach gets them to run around the courtyard, chase a ball and generally remain active for 1 1/2 hours. And if my son doesn't become an Olympic champion fencer, I really don't mind; he's keeping himself active a couple of days a week, and that's what counts.

Palia Ilektriki

Hania has a few sports facilities spaced around the town, some of which include: the track and field stadium in the centre,



the new gymnasium near the sea,



and an old gymnasium on the outskirts of town, known as Palia Ilektriki, because it was built on a site where the state electricity company was formerly located (which is why the whole area has a shabby look to it).



One of my daughter's tennis lessons took place at Palia Ilektriki. While she was busy, I had to figure out what to do to keep my son occupied. There was what looked like a cafe across the road from the gym, which I noticed was closed. No surprise, as it was a Wednesday afternoon, when shops are closed and the town isn't so busy. Tables and chairs were still set outside it, even though the weather is cooling down now.



We went there to rest on one of the chairs so my son could finish his homework. No one moved us away, which I was quite thankful about, especially when I saw the sign on one of the windows of the cafe: "No entry to under-18s". We weren't entering it anyway, but I wonder if they would allow under-18s to enter if accompanied by an adult. Probably a poker house...